


Strange Love

by dulce_de_leche_go



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beast Mode Sex, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Blood Magic, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Knotting, Mates, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mild Ron Weasley Bashing, Monster Boyfriend, Monster sex, Other, Porn With Plot, Pregnancy, References to Knotting, Rough Sex, Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-06-25 01:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 109,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dulce_de_leche_go/pseuds/dulce_de_leche_go
Summary: A centuries old lover of one of Draco Malfoy's ancestors has left the Malfoy heirs with a lasting present - a blood curse - meant to haunt them for ages to come. At the strike of midnight, as the day turns over from one year to the next, the year of his 21st birthday, Draco learns of the punishment set upon his family line. With each nightfall, he will have his humanity stripped away and, in turn, be left to become a savage beast. With every passing night in the body of a monster, his mind will dwindle and he'll become more animal than man. If he cannot find a way to break the curse before the night of his 21st birthday, he will be forever doomed to become a beast.When he calls upon the Ministry, requiring their top secret handling of his very delicate situation with a request for their best and brightest and foremost expert on magical beasts to address his case, it's fortunate that Hermione Granger just so happens to be available.***A Beauty and the Beast inspired snarky romance between a man and a woman...a wizard and a witch...a beast and his belle. Also, monster sex, y'all.***





	1. Prologue - The New Year

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! o/
> 
> For anyone that is unfamiliar, this Dramione of mine was originally uploaded on FF.net and later taken down. It's been at least a couple years since it's been up anywhere and I finally decided to just post it here so it is accessible again and also available for easy download once the chapters are all up.
> 
> As with some of my other Dramione stores I've started posting here, I have done some editing from the original version. The main difference between this story and the others I was tackling, though, is that there is no major rewrite, only minor edits for clarity and formatting.
> 
> That being said, there's some straight up beast sex in this. Unabashed monster fucking, you might say. If that's not your jam, you should back away slowly (or very quickly--whatever suits you). If that's what you came here for...strap in.

  
  
_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _  
_**Sunday, December 31, 2000 – 11:00PM** _  
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

The little clock on the mantel chimed softly in the dim light of the flat, a faint sound that signified the soon-to-be closing of another year – a rather horrible year for one Hermione Granger. 

The young witch sighed heavily, her head falling back with a dull thud to the back of her sofa as she twirled the stem of a champagne flute between her fingers. She should be at the Ministry ball with her friends and colleagues ringing in the new year, not curled up on her couch in her pajamas, her cotton-clad legs covered in a multitude of cartoon cows with scattered speech bubbles exclaiming ‘Moo!’ while she did what many a person might be able to interpret as sulking.

Hermione scoffed at the thought. 

_'I don't sulk. Top of my class, a talented, accomplished, and powerful witch – not to mention an essential third of The Golden Trio who defeated the most feared dark wizard of her generation in all of wizarding Britain! Hermione Jean Granger doesn't sulk!'_

Yet there she was, very distinctly sulking.

To say it had been a bad year for her personally would have been an insulting understatement. She couldn't even claim that the year had started off well enough. Oh no. The year had started with a failed marriage proposal and the near immediate loss of a decade long friendship. The stress and anxiety of such a dramatic upheaval in her life managed to affect her performance at work, much as she tried to deny it. 

With everyone's lives changing so rapidly after the conclusion of the war, Hermione found herself without her normal solid rock of Harry, or even Ginny, to fall back on as they were too engrossed in their own new marriage and professional lives to spare much more beyond a sympathetic shoulder or evening here and there. The dip in her job performance was all too noticeable and as lenient as her superiors attempted to be, it was just too obvious for them to not act. Thus, she found herself placed under a probationary period where she would be very meticulously scrutinized by some higher-ups and if her work was found to be unsatisfactory in the slightest, it would lead to her termination.

With a disgruntled groan at thinking about her year to this day, Hermione tossed back the remaining champagne in her glass and proceeded to snatch up the bottle from the table in front of her, dumping what remained of it into her glass. Chucking the now empty bottle aside, she huffed and fell back into the cushions resuming her earlier position and swiping a clammy hand over her face with a muffled noise of frustration. She'd never failed at anything before, how could she have done such an abysmal job with _everything_ this year?

Reflecting on it all again – for the billionth time up to now – she really had no one else to blame but herself. She should have known and acknowledged the signs when she'd seen them instead of ignoring them and brushing them off as clearly insignificant things that would never come back to haunt her. She and Ron had started officially dating shortly after The Battle of Hogwarts and things were well enough for a little bit afterward, but there were some things very blatantly missing from their relationship. Heated kisses in mysterious secret chambers under magical buildings were all well and good in the middle of a war that you didn't expect to see the end of, but once removed from all these regularly life-threatening ordeals and dropped into the real world, many endearing traits quickly became irritating and just downright outrageous.

Ron had always been a bit of a jealous bloke, even before he realized that he'd _**liked** _liked her and not just _liked_ her liked her. In school, it was cute—flattering to a degree. To know that he was so protective of her and coupled with her curious infatuation with him, it was a bit of a turn on, a white knight vision if you will. Not that she ever felt she was ever in need of his protection per se, but the sentiment was appreciated. Now that they were adults, though, it was utterly oppressive! Where was she going? Who was she going to see? How long would she be gone? The request – the heavily implied demand – that she not be alone with any of her male colleagues without trustworthy supervision...it was all just too ridiculous!

Aside from the all too clingy behavior, the fact that intellectually he couldn't keep up with her in conversation was just depressing. 

She loved Ronald, she truly did, but between snogging and a decidedly tame sex life, there turned out to be very little to fill the void. But she stayed. Of course, she did. What else was she supposed to do? Everyone knew they were supposed to be together “after all they'd been through,” it was just one of those things. 

Except it wasn't.

She thought she could do it until that fateful day, one year ago from this day, at the regal ballroom rented out by the Ministry for their annual New Year's party when Ronald Weasley dropped to one knee and procured a tiny little box from the pocket of his dress robes. Popping open the small velvet box and giving her an eyeful of a gaudy gold band topped with a too big, blocky looking red stone with a smattering of little diamonds on either side of it – an extravagant expense paid more to flaunt his new Auror’s salary than with any mind to her at all – he asked for her hand with only a little hesitation.

“Hermione Jean Granger, will you be my wife?”

With eyes wide as saucers and a churning feeling in the pit of her stomach, she eyed this ring – it was a material representation of just how wrong their relationship was. From her least favorite metal and stone to the size and shape of the cut of it—it was everything that he expected her to want and not at all what he should know by now to fit her personality and tastes.

Simply, breathily, she replied, “N-no. I can't. I can't Ronald, I'm so sorry.”

Taking a few stumbling steps away from him, she was only briefly able to see the flood of emotions washing across his face: shock, hurt, anger, despair, sorrow; all right before she apparated somewhere far away to drink herself into a depressed stupor.

Familiar chimes rang out softly from the mantel clock again, drawing her back to the present and signifying the turnover to the midnight hour and the official beginning of the new year. Peeling her hand away from her face, Hermione's narrowed gaze slid to her fireplace as she listened to the clock. She was glad she'd closed the floo to guests, she had so much more misery to wallow in yet. 

“Bottoms up.” 

She saluted her delicate glass to the clock and downed the entirety of it in several loud gulps before loosing a little hiccup and furrowing her brows at the dry and tangy alcohol fizzing its way down her throat, into her belly. Sighing again, she flopped on her stomach onto the cushions, glaring at the mantel through heavy lidded eyes with all the intentions of only resting her eyes…just for a moment.  
  


_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _  
_**Sunday, December 31, 2000 – 11:00PM** _  
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

The fire roared in the hearth in the manor's sitting room like there wasn't a thing wrong in the world. Witches and wizards were out celebrating yet another year done, another year without a crazy loony bin snake-faced half-blood trying to purify the world of other half-bloods and Muggle-borns alike. They were out in their fancy gowns and robes, dancing, drinking, being carefree and jovial while some, like himself, probably sat at home or in a dark corner of a bar just...brooding. There wasn't really a better word for it, not that he'd admit it aloud, but that's what it was. A spade's a spade after all.

Draco swirled the amber liquid in his glass thoughtfully before taking a long pull of it, satisfied by the familiar burning at the back of his throat. The manor was deathly quiet aside from the steady crackling of the fire he stared into, deep in thought. All other occupants of the large estate were either the house elves hiding gods knew where until summoned, or gone.

After the final battle had ended and the war had officially come to a close, he had hoped so foolishly that the Wizengamot would see that their parts had been essential to the turn of the tides. He'd never been an overly brave man, much more inclined to save his own skin than another's, but he was sure that the council would see that the Malfoys played an integral part of the game in this last war and would at least be rewarded with a full pardon. Unfortunately, he had only been partially right.

Narcissa had been the first to be cleared of all charges. Her role in lying to Voldemort was the most obvious to them all as having allowed Mr. Harry Potter to complete the prophecy and destroy the dark wizard even without The Chosen One's own testimony to help their decision along.

Draco had been next to face the stoic faces passing their judgment. He remained equally stoic on the outside but his anxiety was internally rising out of control. 

He was no fool. He knew what a prat he'd been to Scarhead and his crew over the years, but they were just schoolyard antics. He'd had a very real chance to turn him in — all of them — in this very sitting room. Instead, he'd lied. Well, skirted the truth really, not lied. Liars don't get full pardons. So, clearly, he simply omitted some things and then there was the commotion with the old house elf and really what else could be done at that point? But he did help. The trio lived another day and enough days moving forward to end the damned war. 

What more did the damn council want from him anyway? 

They'd murmured amongst themselves about the charges presented against him but were struck with an eerie silence when that same Mr. Potter testified for his childhood rival, echoing Draco's mental justifications of all the ways he really wasn't a supporter of the snake-man. Imagine further Draco's surprise when none other than Gryffindor's own Golden Girl, Hermione Granger, took the stand to testify the same. 

She'd known, she said, she'd known that he was troubled that year and that things happened beyond his control as he was simply still a child to his parents then, one that just happened to be put in a very bad predicament. The tasks he'd been given, he couldn't, wouldn't, or didn't do in part or in their entirety and because of this, they were able to accomplish what they had needed to do to bring them there that day. 

Granger really was a marvelous speaker – for what she was, anyway. Or maybe it was just because he'd never heard her speaking about him in any positive way before that he found it more tolerable than ever before. In any case, it was enough and his pardon was issued as well.

Lucius was the last to be sentenced and it wasn't until his father was on trial that he'd realized that he hadn't really had any notable and redeeming deeds he could think of that the Trio could even possibly speak on, even if they wanted to. 

Draco's relationship with his father had been whittled away and deteriorated so significantly that last year that he honestly hadn't cared that the man would be rotting in a cell in Azkaban for the rest of his life. Draco may have been ingrained with the Slytherin mindset from early on and worked to protect himself above all others, but he'd also known of the loyalty aspect, or at least a familial loyalty. When Lucius essentially offered him up to the Dark Lord in desperation for a chance to have the Malfoy name redeemed, punishing Draco himself for any and all failures in addition to any he might receive from the other wizard, Lucius became filth in his eyes. 

No. Draco couldn’t really give two shits if Lucius Malfoy withered away as an insane or emotionless husk in the dark, dank prison of Azkaban.

Draco, however, cared deeply for his mother. He also knew that, unfortunately, as cold of a couple as they may have appeared to others, they truly loved each other. If they took his father away from her, he knew she too would eventually wither away to nothing. And again, unfortunately, that's exactly what happened. The sentence came down with no miraculous and lifesaving testimonies to save him and Lucius was carted back to his prison cell in that god awful place.

To her credit, Narcissa did well for a time. They were at least allowed routine visits to see his father and that seemed to help her. It wasn't until the visits showcased the older man's growing despair at being locked in the dreadful place that Narcissa's own condition started to fade. Seeing her once proud husband reduced to a shell of his former proud self proved to be too much and her spiral into a horrible depression began. 

Draco had been working to restore the Malfoy name as best he could - the name being respected still in some circles, but largely shunned in most and particularly by the more outspoken Potter supporters, but he'd had to put things on hold to take care of his mother's declining health. It was only a few months ago, now that he'd finally had to bite and admit her into St. Mungo's for supervised care that he just couldn't give her in their family home.

A regal grandfather clock began to chime the twelfth hour and Draco sneered, mulling over thoughts of what this new year could possibly bring to trump the last few. Swirling his drink in his glass again, he brought it to his lips for another sip but just as soon dropped it with a sudden crash.

_Ting...six.._

His skin was on fire. It felt like it was literally wreathed in flames, licking at every expanse of flesh, winding into every pore. Draco began shaking, feeling his temperature rising drastically and he jumped to his feet from the plush chair he'd been lounging in moments before.

_Tong...seven..._

He shrugged off his tailored jacket, jerking and yanking at the fabric until it came free, not having a second thought as the expensive material landed in a sweat damp heap on the manor floor. Quick to follow was his black turtleneck as he ripped it over his head and threw it aside. Still trembling he looked to his hands and arms, looking for signs of burns – magical or otherwise – and was frustrated to find none.

_Ting..eight.._

Draco was granted only a small reprieve before the pain started. 

Crying out suddenly, he fell to his knees, hitting the cold tile with a loud thud, a harsh grunt wrenched free from his lips. Groaning, he braced himself with his palms flat on the floor as his body started producing grating and grinding noises. Bones shifted and rubbed together to reform themselves into something different. Something larger. Something decidedly more wicked.

_Tong...nine.._

His ribs cracked, expanded, his chest barreling out and making his already lean muscles look sleeker as they stretched to fit his growing frame. Draco felt his spine reset itself, creating a more natural hunch to his bent body where it writhed on the ground. Twin peaks of dark bone pierced through the skin of his scalp on either side of his head. Angry looking horns pushed through his flesh with ease, curling forward and gleaming in the firelight, the curve reminiscent of a set of devilish, hellish bull’s horns.

_Ting..ten.._

Arching back and finding himself mostly stuck in a half-hunched posture, Draco cried out again. The sound of his pain was rapidly becoming a deeper, throatier sound, a ragged growl more than anything still discernible as human. His feet gained muscle and bones stretched, pinched in his fine leather shoes until they finally burst through to reveal things that could only be described as massive hind paws topped with dangerous black claws. He chanced a look back and truly wished he hadn't, his eyes catching sight of his hands which also cracked and shifted to become large, padded, black-tipped paws.

_Ting..eleven.._

Struggling to his feet and balancing on his changed appendages, he stumbled forward to the fireplace and clutched at the mantel as the changes hastened. His frame finished filling out all together not much taller than he was minutes before but much broader, a thick wall of muscle making up the span of his back and shoulders, ripping and shredding the remainder of his fine clothing as he grew. 

Letting out a strangled roar, Draco’s vocal chords completed their transition to a deeper, ragged snarl. Canines sharpened alongside his other teeth, transforming into a mouth full of fangs designed to rend and kill as his face snapped and pushed painfully out into a short muzzle to accommodate their new sizes and shapes. His ears lengthened as well, framing the wicked horns crowning his new monstrous form. 

At the end of the terrible symphony of his bones reforming and his pained growls being strangled from his body, thick mats of fur grew in over every inch of his exposed flesh. Flowing like water over stones, it drowned any remaining signs of his humanity beneath coarse, russet fur.

_Ting tong...twelve.._

Eyes that he'd not realized he'd shut, shot open. They were still a silvery grey as before, though they glowed like molten metal with the emotions running rampant behind them, struggling to take in his surroundings with vision so much sharper than it’d ever been before.

Disoriented and fuzzy-headed, Draco blinked several times and stumbling about. His gaze darted around the sitting room until he spotted what he could of himself again in the reflection of a curio cabinet. Catching sight of his hands and flipping them palm side up, then down, then up again, he snarled in a sudden rush of white-hot rage. 

Gripping the closest object – a lounge chair – he growled and flung it across the room. Barely sated by the act, his large bestial form half-stumbled on two legs, half-lumbered on four, moving from object to object, overturning tables and chairs and decimating everything he could touch that wasn't immovable.

Surveying the wreckage with only mildly appeased bloodlust, Draco clambered to his hind feet again and tossed his head back in a roar – a great haunting noise that reverberated through the walls of the manor, spreading into the night and the surrounding forest, carrying with it the unmistakable sounds of anger and despair.  
  
_Happy New Year._  
  



	2. The Assignment

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _  
_**Monday, January 22, 2001 – 10:00AM** _  
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
Tick..tick..tick..tick..

Hermione pointed a sidelong glance at the clock on her supervisor's wall, the steady ticking of the little object making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle in her anxiety. Wringing her hands together in her lap, legs tightly crossed at the ankle with her right one bouncing a bit, she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She’d been waiting for someone to come and let her in on why she'd been called to the office this time and with every tick of that blasted clock, she swore she was one step closer to hyperventilating. 

Hermione was no fool, she knew that she was still under her probationary period and that this was probably just another evaluation to let her know where she stood but she couldn't help the restless churning of her gut today. Her intuition was telling her that today was going to be a _very_ unpleasant day.

Just as quickly as she'd started her downward spiral of dismal thoughts in her head, the handle of the office door jiggled and signified its opening and she was jerked completely back to the present. 

The sight of the Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, stepping through the entryway and shutting the door quietly behind him was both uplifting and terrifying at the same time. She moved to get up to greet him but he waved her back down into her seat and made his way to her, taking to leaning against her superior's desk in front of her instead of occupying the seat behind it.

"Hermione Granger." He smiled softly down at her. "I regret to say that it has been far too long since I've gotten to see you."

Hermione brightened visibly, the worry lines fading somewhat from around her eyes and she returned his smile.

"Kings- ah-I mean, Minister, it's good to see you!"

The man chuckled and shook his head.

"Kingsley is more than fine with me, Hermione." Kingsley's face sobered a bit, his smile faltered. "How have you been doing?"

The lines were back.

Hermione let out a sigh, her right leg starting its nervous jiggling again.

"Better. Not great, but better.”

She had no doubt that between his personal association with herself and Harry in addition to his position as Minister that he'd heard more than his fair share of all the down and dirty events happening in both her romantic and work lives. Feeling like he probably wasn't really here to discuss the intricacies of her love life with her, she tried to redirect quickly, skipping straight past the cordial pleasantries she would've observed otherwise.

"I have really been able to begin focusing on work again. Reichard has been giving me several cases that I feel have truly been easing me back into the swing of things and have sufficiently challenged my abilities to the point where I believe I'm ready to be reinstated to my position in its full capacity. I-"

Kingsley cut off her professional self-evaluation with a raised hand and a chuckle, shaking his head again.

"Stop, stop, stop. I'm not here to evaluate you. I _am_ here to talk to you in some capacity about your probation but I'm not going to go over your paperwork - that's Reichard's job. And, off the record, we both know those cases that he's been giving you are a load of dung."

The way he'd said the last part with a charming smirk and quirk of one dark eyebrow did well to dissolve more of the seriousness from the air.

Hermione released a breathy chuckle, tension flowing out of her shoulders just a bit. She wiped a sweaty hand over her face and looked up at the man she'd come to know as a friend - certain she'd looked as weary as he'd ever seen her.

"Yes, well...I can appreciate the thought behind them I suppose. I'm sure he's meant well in any case..."

The Pity Cases, as she'd come to call them, were what she imagined were her boss' attempt at trying to pad her 'detention' for his _favorite_ caseworker.

Hermione's stress and depression had affected her work longer than she'd been on probation and she knew that her superiors tried to keep from taking any disciplinary action against her but it was just too obvious for them to ignore any longer. Now she was under an excruciatingly long one year probation during which everything she did would be seriously evaluated to determine if she was fit to return to her normal role in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that she'd just transferred into prior to the New Year's fiasco. 

The oh-so-trying – a.k.a. frivolous and stupid – casework from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was Reichard's way of making her punishment easier and it was driving her absolutely bonkers!

"Let me level with you." Clasping his hands loosely over his thighs as he stretched out a bit from his perch on the desk, Shacklebolt gave her a serious look. "I need you to come back to the department you belong in, running at one hundred and ten percent like you always do. While I find myself in a certain fortuitous position of power to be able to remove this 'time out'...it wouldn't be prudent of me to do so."

Opening her mouth to protest, Hermione was stopped short by Kingsley's politely raised hand indicating that he wasn't yet done speaking. She snapped her jaw shut again and did her best to listen, desperately wanting to beg to be let out of this ridiculous purgatory of ornery pixies and overly entitled unicorns. He had to have had a good reason to call her here today aside from essentially saying he can't do anything for her, right? That wasn't his style after all...

Kingsley reached into the folds of his robes to procure a neatly folded piece of parchment. The deep emerald wax seal had already been broken showing that whatever this was had been read at least once before. He motioned for her to take the letter waiting until she had it in hand before continuing. 

"I received this in the post yesterday. It came directly to me as an escalated issue and one of extreme confidentiality." He eyed her as she traced over the dried wax with her fingertips, nodding the go-ahead for her to read the contents as he spoke, "I can't pull you out of your temporary department to save your sanity, but I can give you the option for something much more your pace."

Hermione's eyes flitted across the neatly written script, her brows drawn in concentration. She'd seen this writing somewhere before but she couldn't place it off the top of her head, the seal was familiar as well but it had been broken and chipped from being opened so she was unable to place the author. The further she read into the note, the more her eyes widened and her eyebrows made a steady climb into her hairline, her complexion paling a bit once she took in the entirety of the letter and its sender.

She turned a confused and questioning gaze up to the older man.

"How...how does...I mean that is to say..." She shook her head and tried again. "I don't understand how this would fall into my current jurisdiction."

He shrugged.

"I will be honest and say I'm not entirely sure. Mr. Malfoy sent this to me personally and as you can see, he requested 'our most accomplished individual in the department for magical creatures'. Seeing as he impressed several times the need for secrecy and confidentiality, I'm sure there's quite an interesting story behind it somewhere." The last was said with an amused quirk of his lips.

Hermione shook her head, scanning over the letter again.

"But he mentions something about a family curse that's just been brought to light. I'll admit that Draco Malfoy, being a wizard and whatnot, could technically be defined as a 'magical creature' but I'm fairly positive that's not what this department does."

Kingsley pushed off the desk, retrieving the letter from her and gave it a once over again before tucking it back into an inner pocket of his robes.

"Who knows? Maybe if it is not resolved in the necessary time frame the manor will be overrun by gnomes," he offered with a shrug. "If I understand correctly, you have just shy of six months left on your probation and this case seems to mesh well with your schedule."

"I...yes, I suppose it does..."

"It's already much more interesting than sitting in on the re-evaluation and debates for Merpeople's rights, no?"

"Well--I-I suppose it is-"

"Would you prefer I let Reichard send you into the centaur territories again for renegotiation?"

"NO!" Half out of her spot in her chair, she calmed herself and smoothed her skirt. "No...I'll take the case of course. If there is going to be another silly magical creature issue to deal with, I may as well be the one to deal with whatever is plaguing Malfoy. At least I know more of what to expect. I'd hate to subject anyone else in this department to that king-sized prat – off the record."

At that, he chuckled again and nodded to the clock on the wall that was softly tick-tick-ticking away. 

"You had best plan to take the floo over soon – I'd sent a return owl yesterday that I would send someone today around noon and he demanded that there be no one over late in the evening. The daily cut off time he issued is seven thirty each night, no one is to be in the manor past that time with or without supervision. Whatever _**is** _going in with the boy, it's enough to have him spooked and, despite your past together, I know you will treat the issue with the seriousness necessary."

She allowed a half-concerned look to flit across her features but quickly eased back into her professional mask she'd become so used to wearing. Hermione looked at the clock as well and noted the time – just past 11 now, enough time for a quick bite to eat and then off to face her fate.

"Of course."

It had been almost a solid three years since she'd last seen Draco Malfoy. She had, of course, seen him at his trial after the final battle at which she'd testified for him to help keep him out of prison. Hermione had known deep in her gut that Draco was not as horrible of a man as his father and while he made her adolescent school life a living hell, she'd seen things within him change. Once bigoted and proud without a second thought to the things he would say about Muggle-borns, the war changed him— _Voldemort_ changed him.

Seeing these fancy ideals he'd been raised with enacted to the very serious extremes, the deaths of his professors and classmates he'd seen in the halls for the better part of seven years; being commanded to enact these things himself by a supremely dark and immensely intimidating and powerful dark wizard, yet hesitating... 

Defying him, failing him when the reality and magnitude of the situation was made clear even if his shortcomings were caused by fear...war changed him by drawing a line in the sand to show him very clearly the point at which he would not – could not - cross and she would be slapped in the face with a broomstick before she would let him rot in prison and be rid of any potential of becoming a better man.

Tick...tick...tick..tick..tick...

Hermione sighed heavily at the annoying steadiness of the wall clock's ticking and pulled herself from the chair in the now empty office.

She was right: today _was_ going to be a very unpleasant day.

  
_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _  
_**Monday, January 22, 2001 – 12:00PM** _  
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.—** _  
  


He eyed the clock. Someone should be here soon. Kingsley had said noon...or around noon, or maybe _after_ noon? Bugger, he'd said noon something!

Draco did his best not to pace out of anxiousness with little success. To forcibly still himself, he took a seat on the love seat and faced the fireplace but couldn’t help but focus more on his hands - his human hands - than anything else. They trembled lightly and he had to take several deep breaths, closing his eyes a long moment before opening them again with an equally long and slow exhale. 

Someone would be here soon and it wouldn't do for him to be completely out of sorts, not if he expected them to take him seriously.

Draco continued staring at his hands as if he were trying to commit the look of them to memory like they'd be stolen away from him at any moment. His first transformation on New Year's Day came on so suddenly that he had no idea what to think. Upon waking up the next morning in the manor's gardens, dirtied up from head to toe and covered in little else aside from shredded dress slacks that did little to hide his most essential bits, he thought to chalk it up to a heavy night of drinking and hallucinations. When it happened again the next evening shortly after the sun had set, catching him by surprise, although thankfully at home, and then again the next night, everything became startlingly more real.

Each change left him fuzzy headed upon waking the next day — miraculously human again — but the memories would flood in quickly once he got his bearings. Worse than just these thoughts of the things he'd done the night before were the sensory pieces that would come with them. 

The smells, the sounds, the way it all looked was a stark difference to how he'd ever seen the world before. It alarmed him most because these things, these traits and abilities of this beast, became harder to shake and harder to distinguish between its thoughts and his own. 

It was completely unacceptable! 

He was a Malfoy dammit! 

Malfoys didn't lumber around on four legs like a dog!

They didn't stalk through the wicked forest surrounding the manor in the wee hours of the morning. They didn't track prey in anticipation of sinking their teeth into a quivering jugular and severing a windpipe or breaking their spine with a violent snap of jaw and shake of his head. They didn't fantasize about the thick liquid of blood, still warm and flowing in rivulets over his mouth, neck, and chest, slicking down his thick fur as the dying creature released its bowels, the stench of it hot and heavy on the cold winter night's air—

Draco shivered at the recollection and swallowed thickly around a freshly wedged lump in his throat. The sound of the floo activating pulled him from his reverie. His eyes focused on the slim woman appearing from the fireplace, too shocked to put the appropriate amount of derision in his voice before her name slipped out.

_"Granger?"_

She'd been fussing with smoothing her skirt after she'd stepped through, the navy colored fabric complimenting her skin tone nicely. The skirt itself hugged close to her thighs and hips just shy of being knee length. She wore a matching jacket that buttoned simply at the level of her naval, just at the skirt's waistband, allowing a crisp v-shaped view of her simple but frilly white blouse. The frills and split lapel of the jacket drew his eye to the soft swell of her chest. Her typically untamable hair was surprisingly...well...tamed. Her usual thick bushy curls fell much more smoothly than he'd ever seen them before and the entire mass of it all was actually drawn up – anchored somehow at the back of her head in a not quite ponytail or bun, just enough to move it off her neck and shoulders and expose a lightly tanned expanse of flesh that was broken only by a simple silver chain with a delicately shaped metal lily that rested short of the soft shadow of cleavage peeking above that silly little frilly shirt.

Hermione's head snapped up, having to search only a moment before she saw him sitting there on one of the too fancy couches around the too fancy coffee table. Getting a quick handle on her surprise of him being _right there_ so suddenly after all this time she stepped further into the room. The sound of her heels on the tile was uncomfortably loud. 

"Malfoy." It was more an affirmation than anything else. "Good to see you again." 

Hermione offered him a tight and awkward smile, doing her best to try and start things off right.

Draco arched an eyebrow at that.

"Yeah..you too I suppose." 

His previous nervousness was swiftly being replaced by confusion and a growing sense of irritation as to why his old schoolmate was standing before him now. He knew she'd worked for the Ministry but had thought – no, he was _sure_ – she was in another department. The press still loved to follow the Golden Trio's lives around and he was sure he'd read somewhere that she'd been transferred and promoted into an important position within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She couldn't possibly be his...

_‘No.’_

He'd stood suddenly, interrupting something she'd been saying just a moment before.

 _"YOU'RE_ who they sent for my case?"

She blinked once...twice...three times.

The irritation bloomed onto her features and she easily set into a so familiar stance, weight on one leg with the other jutted out slightly to the side of her and her hands placed firmly and sternly on her hips. 

"Yes. As I was saying...Kingsley provided me with a brief overview of your problem here at the manor and asked if I would take the case. Seeing as you'd requested the most competent agent of the department, I thought I would take pity on you and lend my services lest you be stuck with some tree hugging type." 

_'You incorrigible twat,'_ she huffed internally.

Grey eyes narrowed.

"The only services I'd require of you, _Granger,_ would certainly not have you in that prim little suit unless it was hiked up and you were bent over the chaise." The words came out before he could stop them, lewd and venomous.

Hermione met his narrowed gaze with one of her own, feeling a quick rush of anger flood into her face and she knew he could see the flush. 

_'So much for starting things off right.’_

The corner of her left eye twitched and the fingers of her right hand curled themselves into a tightening fist of their own accord. Taking one deep breath and blowing it out calmly, she willed herself to remain professional. It had been almost three years since she'd seen this boy-turned-man. She had testified for his freedom so he could have a chance on his own to cease being the schoolyard bully she'd always known; this was no way to have a reunion. 

That settled it, she would proceed with taking things back up the high road.

"Yes, well..sad to say, _Malfoy,_ that the only services of mine you'll enjoy partaking in will be involving assisting you to solve this family curse problem because even if I were some sort of escort, _these_ bits and pieces—" She punctuated with an angry step into his space bubble. "—would be more expensive than even your family fortune could afford, not to mention that I'm too much woman for a little prick like you to handle."

_‘Shit.’_

Hermione's invasion of his space caught him slightly off guard, her proximity closer than he'd ever recalled they'd been in school. 

The subtle smell of fresh linens and an airy, barely there floral scent he couldn't place assaulted his nose very suddenly, chased with a spicy smell he could almost taste on the back of his tongue. Her terse words drew the sneer he'd perfected over the last decade to his lips as he straightened to a full head taller than her. 

"Dangerous words for a prude such as yourself, witch." If the sudden animosity were visible between them, he suspected it would manifest itself as crackles of raging lightning snapping between the two. "Maybe we should floo Kingsley and see what he has to say about this – his most esteemed agent coming out and accosting me like that. Let's find out, shall we?" 

And just like that he stepped away and around her with exaggerated intent on calling on the Minister himself to have Granger reassigned to...well to anywhere but there.

Her eyes went wide, the angry tension between them snapped and fizzled as soon as she realized what he was doing. He baited her, yes, but he fully intended on making good on this threat and she couldn't afford him to report something like this back to Kingsley. Friend or no, if such a complaint came from a Malfoy of all people while she was still under probation that would be it – the end of her career at the Ministry. 

"Draco, NO!"

Draco halted and turned. He paused in equal parts due to her small, firm grip on his elbow, her huge amber eyes now pleading up at his face, and the desperate way his name – his given name – tumbled from her lips. They looked at each other then, he at her with a furrowed brow and she at him with wide eyes brimming with something that looked close to fear. He glanced to her hand on his arm and reached to pluck it from its spot akin to removing a distasteful piece of lint from his clothing.

"Come on, Granger. We both know that neither of us wants to work together and we're not in school anymore. I have an urgent and serious matter and-"

"They'll fire me!" she blurted.

"What?" Draco blinked down at her.

"The Ministry. If you get me reassigned from this case, they'll fire me. That's it – _poof!_ No more career." As an afterthought, she added, "Please, Malfoy – Draco...just…let's just try this again from the top? We work on solving this problem that you've discovered — strictly business — and I'll be out of your hair and out of your _life_ as quickly as possible. I just need you to not call the Minister."

Silence stretched between them for seconds that seemed like ages. He eyed her carefully, his arms folded across his chest and head tilted while he examined her panicked demeanor. 

"Why?"

It was her turn to be confused.

"Why what?” she asked. “What do you mean _why?_ I just told you-"

Draco gave her an exasperated sigh and finally moved away from the fireplace to flop into the cushions of the love seat again. 

"Why would they do that over one assignment?"

Hermione dreaded that he'd ask her that and she willed the gears in her head to turn faster so she could figure out a less embarrassing explanation to provide.

"Granger," he warned, watching the woman start wringing her hands together, a blush creeping its way up from her chest into her neck and cheeks.

"I-it's complicated. There was a series of unfortunate events that affected some other things that may or may not have been work related...nothing really important Malfoy." 

Turning from him to pace uncomfortably, she shut her eyes and massaged one of her temples while waving her other hand around in the air. She prattled on, searching for the half-truths she wanted to reveal until she bumped into his solid mass so firmly she nearly toppled backwards, arse over tits.

Draco caught her in her stumble and righted her again before re-folding his arms, glancing to the clock on the mantel, and then looking down on her with a quirked brow. 

"It's one o'clock now so that gives you six and a half hours to tell me before you need to leave for today."

It took her a moment to realize the implication of his words. 

For the moment, at least, it seemed he was willing to accept her as his caseworker...just so long as she explained to him why it was she was there in the first place. 

_‘Bollocks.’_

Echoing his sigh from before, it was her turn to flop onto the cushions of the love seat, quickly propping her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands. 

"FINE."

He straightened again and allowed a smirk to brighten his features, quite satisfied at her dismay and the potential in finding something very intriguing – or very embarrassing – out about Ms. Granger the witchy wonder. It was just as well considering she was going to be finding out quite a few very intriguing details about himself soon because, really, who was he kidding? Hermione Granger, regardless of what department she found herself in, _would_ be the most accomplished agent available.

"Tea?” Draco chirped.

"Please," came her miserable and muffled reply.


	3. The Library

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Monday, January 22, 2001 – 3:00PM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
Draco sipped his tea and they both remained silent while he processed her epic description of the events leading her to him that day.

They'd moved into a different room at Hermione's request to which he'd offered her a sheepish apology before he could pull it back, not even realizing that this was the first time she'd been in this very same sitting room since a few years ago when...well, when things had been quite a bit different. It was just as well. The small apology made them even for when she testified for his freedom as far as he was concerned.

"Quite a situation you've got there, Granger," he commented idly, though the way he eyed her over the top of his cup let on to something more calculating.

She picked at a little triangular pastry on its adorable, tiny, and extremely expensive looking plate. The flaky bits fluttered off, creating an ever-growing pile of them on the dish below. 

"Yes, well...sometimes even I can't separate my personal from my professional life you know."

"Sometimes? It sounds like it was more of an ‘all-the-time’ thing considering they felt the need to put you in the kiddy corner." He smirked at the baleful look she shot him.

"Shut it," she warned, finally dropping the pastry and leaning back in her seat. 

Hermione leaned forward to retrieve the teapot between them and habitually refilled both of their cups. 

"So now you know my dirty little secret, Malfoy. What's yours?"

He sputtered at the question, immediately going on the defensive. 

"What? What do you mean by that?"

Hermione raised a finely sculpted eyebrow, sipped her tea, then answered, "The curse. You know, the entire reason that I'm here in the first place? What did you think I meant?"

_‘Oh...of course that's what she was talking about...’_

"Nothing," he snapped.

Setting down the fragile looking cup, he made to stand, readying himself to launch into his practiced explanation of the situation before he lost his nerve. 

"Follow me, I'll fill you in as we walk."

She followed him down the manor's long and elegantly decorated hallways, glancing between her surroundings and his broad back. He was dressed today much how she'd remembered him back at school: finely tailored black jacket and slacks, black turtleneck, and black leather shoes that, combined, were probably worth more than most of the belongings in her flat--and her rent to boot.

"Where is it we're headed?"

"The best place to search for answers: the library." 

Draco glanced back and couldn't help his smirk when he saw her distracted gaze snap back to him with a brightening gleam in her eyes. He could see the excitement bubbling in her no matter how hard she tried to tamp down on it, probably fantasizing of what the Malfoy private collection could possibly hold that the restricted shelves at Hogwarts, the Ministry, or any of the questionable shops of the local towns nearby held.

Hermione let out a simple _'oh'_ and made to listen to him more intently as he finally began her briefing.

"This curse seems to have manifested itself at the start of this year. I'd never heard of any such thing tied to the Malfoy line before, but our roots are old and run deep." He shrugged and turned a corner down the tiled hallway. "It seems to be tied to my birthday."

Hermione was close at his heels, not favoring getting lost in the huge house. She knew there was nothing there that could harm her — not anymore — but she'd rather stick close to her guide than find out the contrary.

"Your birthday?"

"My twenty-first to be precise."

She nodded.

"June, isn't it? Sometime early..."

Draco paused, half turning to her with a quizzical look on his face.

"Yes...the fifth. How did you know?"

She flushed at that, realizing she'd given herself away.

"Ah – I just remember it was somewhere around there. From when I served as Head Girl...there were certain…duties which required a modicum of memorization to certain students' information."

_'Like what?'_ Draco pondered, arms folded again while he studied her and she began to fidget under his narrowed stare. 

Suddenly, a small grin broke out onto his face.

"Liar,” he said.

"Am not!" Hermione protested immediately. She was.

A chuckle this time. 

"You are! You used your position as Head Girl to snoop for the boy wonder! Gathering information on the enemy, eh, Granger?" He hummed, "Mm..I bet you know all of Slytherin house's important players' information."

"Oh, come off it. I did not and I _**do**_ not." She crossed her arms, mimicking the man across from her and huffed indignantly.

"Did too. Do too," he said petulantly. Before she could protest again he rattled off a short list of his old classmates’ names and looked at her, brows raised, waiting.

There was a pregnant pause during which Hermione glared daggers at him, sighed, and responded with a crisp series of recitation, nailing each one on the head with her recollection of each and every individual's birth date. 

"Happy?"

"You forgot one."

"I did not-"

"Hermione Jean Granger: eight…no, nineteenth of September."

Hermione's jaw loosed itself and she knew she was gaping a bit like a fish. 

"How did you-"

"Slytherin," he said and tapped his temple with a finger before making to continue on to the library.

"Wha...well, that's wrong anyway. I'm hardly your housemate and you know it!" He'd managed to frazzle her, what? Two? Three times already? And they haven't even gotten through the briefing yet.

_‘Ugh.’_ Hermione began to rethink the acceptance of this assignment.

"But you think like one of us. And you'd already admitted you weren't perfect, so no need to apologize for your unfortunate house's inherent shortcomings. We’ve all our burdens to bear." 

Draco led her the rest of the way to the doors of the library on the lower level of the manor and didn't have to look behind him to know the woman was fuming. The thought brought a delightful feeling to his belly. 

"We're here."

Hermione was ready to light into him when they finally stopped. She hardly set a toe past the threshold as the doors to the library were opened to her and soft beams of sunlight stretched across the floor, emanating a comforting coziness and warmth that beckoned her to move from her spot at the mouth of the room.

_Books._

_There were so. Many. Books._

Her anger and irritation dissipated quickly as she took in the rich sight before her. Hermione’s heart was in her throat at the beauty of it all.

While certainly not the largest room in the manor, every wall was brimming with books.

As they first entered, Hermione noticed the intricately woven rug beneath her feet, black with gorgeous shades of silver threads making up the large 'M' in the center and the braided design of its border. The rug sat on the smooth, marbled pearl floor that reached wall to wall until it butted against dusky bronze baseboards which, in turn, transitioned to the surprisingly tasteful vertically striped walls. The stripes alternated between two shades of emerald green, only a subtle difference between the two colors, yet just enough to add depth to the room. 

Directly across the entrance on the far end of the library was a single, huge Gothic cathedral window and the sole source of sunlight for the room. The window’s delicate designs on the interior of the arched frame painted a fluid floral pattern and they, as well as the frame itself, shone a stunning silver. Above them, a beautiful glass chandelier hung from the ceiling, catching the light and reflecting delicate flecks of sunshine onto the rug and floor below.

To her left, tucked near the corner, there were a set of luxurious looking armchairs. They were angled to face each other on either side of an ornate square table for two which was home to a flickering flame trapped in a beautiful stained glass jar; it reminded her of the kind she’d often conjure when her, Harry, and Ron had been on the run. Near to that, there was some kind of filing drawer which reminded her of an old Muggle card catalog cabinet and appeared to be made of ebony with polished silver fittings on the face of each tiny drawer.

To her right was a rectangular table, no less fancy than the square one on the opposite wall. This one, though, sat with four simple wooden chairs set around it. A writing desk and seat were pushed up against the wall next to the double door entryway with another of those magical flames in glass.

Once Hermione was done taking in the peripherals, she indulged herself in the main course and took a great, deep breath.

The smell was _heavenly._

The musty odor of aged parchment was thick in the air and mingled with the equally welcome scent of worn leather wafting from all the freestanding shelves of texts. At least a dozen or so heavy bookshelves of that same ebony wood made up the rest of the room. Before her were two rows framing the large window and an embroidered silver and green runner. Each row was at least four bookcases deep from what she could see and, beyond that, she saw even more set flush against the room’s far walls. All of the cases towered above her, no shorter than nine feet high, and nary a one was any less than four-fifths of the way full.

Hermione drew in another breath, this time letting it out with a wistful sigh. 

Draco watched her inspection of the library with a keen interest and found himself rather self-satisfied at her obvious adoration of its contents. 

The so-soft noise of part yearning-part lazy pleasure that slipped past her lips made him whet his subconsciously. 

He'd been eying her all day since she'd arrived, full of suspicion and a comfortable level of malice in his stealthy glances. It wasn't until he saw her there, a mere handful of steps into the room, taking in her surroundings with open wonder and appreciation that he'd actually looked at _her._

The light from the window touched every corner of the library and lit up all the different shades in the woman's hair that he'd never noticed before. It danced across her skin, her lightly tanned flesh hinting that she seemed to take the sun with grace. The sensible navy business suit she sported was fitted, though not quite as nicely as his own, and from his vantage point he could appreciate the way the jacket housed her figure and smoothed over the modest curve of her breasts. Her suit's skirt ran snug across her thighs and hugged her bum and legs well enough to create a perfectly pronounced and rounded curve of arse.

It was a magnificent arse if he were being honest.

Draco's eyes drew back to her face as she released another sigh, focusing on her soft-looking pink lips and how they tilted in the tiniest of smirks to herself. No lipstick on those lips because of course not. Hermione Granger favored practicality over extravagance and he, for one, could see no fault in her decision. With as often as she worried that bottom lip of hers, it would’ve been all for naught anyway. 

The thought of her lip, flushed and swollen and glistening from that particularly aggravating nervous habit of hers caused an unwelcome tingling in his nethers and Draco cleared his throat just this side of ‘too loud’ to pull her from her moment.

Hermione's head whipped around at the noise as though she'd forgotten where she was and who she was with. Her eyes snapped open and as she refocused them on him, he caught sight of the curious glint of golden flecks in her irises before she came back to herself. A delicate blush colored her cheeks.

"Sorry. I just—this place is magnificent, Malfoy! If I had constant access to a place like this in my home I doubt I would ever find reason enough to leave!" 

She made a wide gesture to indicate all the books but shook her head, fiddling with the metal lily at her collarbone and biting at the lip he'd been admiring just a few moments earlier. 

"Anyway...where were you? We need to get started on this case. After all, it's—" She looked around again, this time searching for something and apparently not finding it so she looked to him again with a frown. "No clock in here?"

Draco swept his gaze across the room giving it a once over then settled it back on her and shook his head. 

"There used to be one but I had it removed a week or so ago. Can't concentrate with the incessant ticking."

He reached into one of his pockets and lifted out an old silver pocket watch, flipped the little cover open to check the time then flipped it shut again, replacing it in its previous spot.

"Quarter 'til four. C'mon, have a seat and let's get started."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't judge me for my early writing, please and thanks. o_o Hopefully it's gotten better over the years. @_@


	4. The Mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitousssssss (~˘▾˘)~  
> exxxxxxxposition ~(˘▾˘~)  
> and grrrrrroping! ~(˘▾˘)~

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _  
_**Monday, January 22, 2001 – 5:00PM** _  
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

Draco managed to finally finish briefing Hermione on the happenings up to this point...as vaguely as possible. 

Ever since he acknowledged that there was something serious and wrong happening to him a week or so after it began, he'd locked himself away in the library researching. With his father being incarcerated and his mother only a flicker of her former self, he was very much on his own with figuring out the puzzle.

He would wake with the sun each day and stay in the library, surrounding himself with family history books and journals trying to root out the problem. Thus far, the changes always seemed to happen only after the sun went down. He’d gotten used to watching for when the edges of the sky began to darken and would leave the library for a safer, less destructible portion of the manor where it would matter less he destroyed everything that wasn't nailed down.

The winter daylight hours were short and deceptive, though. The sun often liked to set around 4 in the afternoon most days this early in the year but he'd taken to timing the change and found it happened closer to the late hours between 8 and 9 – hence his imposed curfew for the Ministry. It was a curious thing and he hadn't yet figured exactly what triggered it for _those_ times specifically, but he'd already started training himself to notice the signs and it provided him with much more time to research than he'd originally feared he would have. 

The only consistent thing about it all, was that the beast did not exist in sunlight. Regardless of which hour under the moonlight that the beast came out, the transformation was always over as the sun rose over the horizon. For that he was thankful.

During his fortuitous reprieve from the monster, Draco was finally able to find a centuries old journal from a French ancestor which hinted at the tragic curse to his bloodline. There was no definitive explanation of its parameters, but from that journal and a few others in the following decades they painted a sadly romantic picture of a punishment from a love-struck, jilted witch.

The ancestor first affected by it had notes of a failed love affair with a jealous and spiteful woman. His story painted them in a frivolous and young relationship. They were like any teen-aged couple and he was like many a teenage boy, letting his hormones lead him in his decisions. Where it seemed he’d been in it for fun, she had been far more invested—obsessed. When the young man called an end to their relationship her response was much more...visceral...than initially expected and set into motion on a deeply seated curse on his name.

This curse, it called him out for the beast he’d been: ugly and driven only by his baser needs and instincts. It shaped him into a horrific monster with his only hope of being restored to his human form finding and committing to a wife by his 21st birthday. If he failed in this task he would remain forever a monster, forever alone, secluded in the ancient home, losing not only his humanity in form but eventually in mind as well. 

Draco’s ancestor had apparently pleaded with the witch to take him back and she’d made him suffer for many days—suffer as she had. Too obsessed with him for her own good, she did take him back and they were wedded that same year.

The young couple had one child together soon following their wedding – a boy – and groomed him to be the finest Pureblood heir any would lay eyes on. It wasn't until the year of his 21st birthday that his curse, one that both husband and wife thought was broken, manifested itself once again. Draco's ancestor was livid and threatened the witch for her treachery.

What good was breaking his own spell when it didn't lie solely with him and infected his entire bloodline?

To the witch’s credit, she'd been confused as well, as she was certain it had been broken when they'd married—he’d reverted to his human form after his vows, after all. 

So, what happened to affect their son in this way?

Magic, it turns out, is a very special thing. It’s delicate, but fierce. A strength, but a crutch. Certainly, it is a double-edged sword, as it represents both immense power and immense weakness in different individuals. Those that can wield it must find their balance to control it and not let it control them. It was in this important factor of magic that the witch mis-stepped. In her blinding and emotional rage towards her new husband, she'd intended one punishment and instead inflicted another. 

The magic she wove dug its tendrils deep into the wizard's very blood. The man feared her at the time and did not love her when they married but the woman's magic, being so rooted in her obsessive love for him, desired his love in return. While their marriage gave him respite from his other form, the punishment lingered in his blood, waiting for the next male heir. Her magic wouldn't be sated until his love was had. But, seeing as she’d been the one to set him to his fate, he was less than willing to oblige.

Thus, the curse persisted.

The Malfoy line never had more than one child from then on. It was always only ever one—a son who would pass on this punishment from one generation to the next. They took quickly to arranging marriage very early, while the child was still an adolescent with no chance of manifesting the curse before taking a bride. Over the passing generations, the Malfoys were able to alter the magic.

They dabbled with exotic potions and rituals during pregnancy, enough to make the fate more bearable if it were ever to come to pass—enough to have morphed it into the dismal experience Draco found himself subjected to: a man during the daylight hours and a beast only ever at night.

If it hadn’t been for the war and for all his family’s flirtations with the Dark Lord, Draco wouldn’t be in this mess at all. He’d have fulfilled his part in some pitiful business marriage fresh out of school and been none the wiser.

Lucky for him his family’s decisions kept slapping him from every side.

With as much as he’d gleaned from the various texts around the Manor, Draco still only told Hermione as much as he felt prudent having her know which was, incidentally, not a great deal.

At this point she knew the curse was very old and had ‘summoned’ a great and terrible beast into the manor – hence his request for assistance from the Magical Creatures department. She knew that in order to rid it, he needed to find a wife and marry before his birthday. 

When Hermione started asking the most predictable questions, he was ready.

"Why in Merlin's name would you being married have anything to do with getting rid of this...this creature?"

A shrug.

"Don't know, don't care. More interested in just getting rid of it."

"Well, can I _see_ the beast? It may help to examine it and try to determine its origins—"

"It only shows itself late in the evening."

"Well perhaps I can stay a bit late today. You seem to have it contained well enough when it appears—"

"Far too dangerous for that."

"But you stay here every night!"

"I know how to protect myself."

"And I don't?"

"I don't know, do you?"

"Malfoy!"

"Granger?"

Hermione huffed loudly and threw up her arms, pushing away from the table they'd been occupying.

“Malfoy!" she repeated in irritation, "I am _trying_ to assist you. You owled, I came. Are you seriously trying to get me fired?"

"I laid out the rules before you even got the assignment, Granger." 

Draco stood and leaned against the table, watching her continue to make soft little huffs at everything he tossed back at her. Her eyes glittered angrily even in the low-lit library, the sun having already gone down and the chandelier’s enchanted crystals sparkling and illuminating them with borrowed sunlight.

"Don't blame me if you can't handle it. Maybe that's why your dearest Ministry had to put you on probation, you really _can't_ cut it after all."

She let out a strangled noise of frustration, something halfway between a growl and a yell and shoved herself in his personal space with a finger prodding the hard expanse of his chest. 

"You are a damned git, you know that? You want help, I'm here. You are lucky to have me on this case you...you... _YOU! UGH!"_

Narrowed silver eyes zeroed in on her delicate finger poking at his chest. Hermione’s skin was pink and flushed and the hand not jabbing at him was curled into a tight fist. The muscles of that hand flexed and her knuckles were gradually turning white as though she were itching to launch that fist at his face. It didn’t take a genius to know she was angry but, for Draco, he’d seen it close up enough times to know just how hard she was struggling keeping her temper in check.

Hermione’s chest heaved with her heightened heartbeat, drawing her suit jacket tight around her breasts with every irate breath. Those dark brown eyes of hers were focused up at him with her tightly contained fury and this close he could smell her. He smelled every bit of that anger and it was a hot and spicy thing that wrapped itself around the cool floral and linen scent that was so uniquely hers. She smelled of hot cinnamon now, the kind that might accompany a nice hot cider in the depth of winter. It was sharp and powerful and assaulted his nose, settling on the back of his tongue as it crept in to warm his bones.

She was too close.

“Get your filthy finger away from me, Mud—"

 _"Say it."_ Hermione cut him off, the two words a warning that were forced from between clenched teeth.

The air in the room thickened with tension and that delicious smell.

Her hand with the prodding digit darted to instead clench one of Draco’s lapels and jerk him closer to her now sneering face. 

"Say it, Malfoy, and see what happens. It's been years but the war changed us all. Most of all, it’s lowered my threshold for your haughty bullshite. I'm on the clock, a professional, and in your home, but you go ahead and say that word and I’ll be happy to show you the spell the last wizard who uttered it to my face got to experience."

_Too close, she far was too close._

_And she smelled_ amazing.

 _But she was also_ threatening _him._

When she grabbed his jacket, his body responded before his mind could and he latched onto the offending hand with his own, dwarfing her tiny wrist almost comically. The other palm surged forward and clamped around her slender neck easily and with only a few steps forward he had her pinned against the filing cabinet. An instinctive snarl twisted his features and he expected to see the woman’s eyes widen in fear at his sudden physicality. He was surprised to see no such thing.

Those same angry brown eyes burned directly into his own. Hermione’s gaze was hard with not a tremble to be seen in the fine muscles around them. Her jaw was locked tightly in place, mouth set in a thin line of determination with no other emotion discernible from those lips alone. Her scent still carried that cinnamon spice but there was more to it now, something his mind recognized as a distinctly feral thing—it beckoned him ever closer.

It was only when he tried to move forward that he noticed the stabbing pressure at his jugular and was finally able to put the pieces together. Hermione’s left hand was held tight in his right and she was pinned to the cabinet with his left. His hands were full but she still had one yet to spare—one that had procured her wand from wherever it was she’d been hiding it and was now twisting the tip of it into his throat. His eyes followed the path of her wand arm from shoulder to wrist and back until he’d caught her eyes again and she made a point of rotating her wrist _just_ so in another open threat.

The longer they stood there like that, sizing each other up and testing how far the other might go with this standoff, Draco’s attention saw fit to wander. It became entranced by the delicate fluttering pulse beating under the pad of his thumb. Though her heartbeat drummed against his skin, he smelled not a hint of fear on her at all. No, that feral tinge to her scent was hardly that of fearful prey and all of what belonged to a predator—nothing less than a lioness.

Her skin was so warm against his palms, her blood pumping swiftly beneath the surface to call deep shades of pink and red to color her exposed face and neck. He knew that blood, he'd seen it spilled on the floor of his very own sitting room—it wasn't dirty, not muddy, not in the slightest. It was a deep rich red, clean as his and speeding through her veins that very second to fuel her resistance and adrenaline. 

The ghost of the urge to spill that blood and watch it flowing freely from her neck passed through his thoughts. The image of her throat torn open to resemble a wicked, toothless maw, forced its way into his mind and pulled a low inhuman growl from his throat. Hermione’s hitched breath at the sound snapped his eyes from her neck back up to her face to find her staring at him, eyes half-lidded and glossy with far more gold to them than had been there before.

Draco's dangerous fantasy of her ravaged throat shifted rapidly from one very base need to a much, _much_ different one. His hands moving of their own mind, shifted from an iron grip on her limbs to something softer and more insistent. The thumb at her wrist massaged small circles at her pulse point, the one at her neck slipping lower to stroke over her collarbone. With each experimental touch, the steely aim of her wand arm faltered and her body slackened.

That scent from before grew thick in the air—thick and heady and sweet.

He wanted it on his tongue.

So he followed it to its source.

Hermione's breath stuttered out from between parted lips and she lost whatever it was she’d been doing the moment Draco’s head dipped forward and his nose tickled her skin as he breathed her in. She was dizzy at his proximity. One minute they’d been fighting and the next…the next, her body felt like it was on fire. Hermione felt his lips brushing over her flesh and then his tongue, hot and wet and firm stroking a long line up from the base of her neck to a spot just behind her ear.

A full body shiver ran through her from head to toes and his name came out on a strangled moan, _“Draco—”_

Suddenly, the image of Hermione Granger spread across the table, ripe and primed and ready to fuck chased out all other desires.

He wanted her curls freed from their clip to fan around her on the dark wood.

He wanted that so-sensible suit in disarray, her jacket and blouse ripped open, breasts out.

He wanted to taste her, wanted to shred her skirt and knickers with tooth and claw and bury his face between her thighs. 

He’d drink his fill of her honey-sweet core and replace his mouth with his cock, wrapping those supple thighs high around his waist.

He’d sink his teeth into her neck, mark her as his as he thrust into her silky heat until she was weak and spent from screaming for him— _only_ for him.

He’d pin her, take her, sink hilt-deep to spill his seed and coat her womb until she was irrefutably _his_ —she would bear _his_ young, be **_his_ **mate—

Hunger built in him, the heat of her flesh against his own boiling his blood and building the desire to feel more of it pressed flush to his own. Draco wanted to wrap himself in her scent, bury himself in her heat, consume her entirely.

It was the raw animalistic need of it in that moment that finally snapped him back from the edge.

Draco jerked away, stumbling back into the table they'd been at all afternoon and leaving her to slump against the filing cabinet she was pinned to only moments before.

His eyes were wide, shining silver pools in the chandelier light. His lungs labored hard to pull in great, deep shuddering breaths as though he'd just surfaced from the Black Lake. 

_'What the BLOODY HELL was that.._.'

Hermione mirrored his expression. More disheveled from his wandering hand that found and released the top two buttons of her blouse, it took her a moment but she found her head and stiffened. Her wand arm snapped back into place, albeit more shakily than before, and the glossy golden sheen in her eyes rapidly dissipated. She glared at him with livid chocolate-colored eyes narrowed down to dangerous slits.

"Where the **_fuck_ **do you think you get off—"

"It's time for you to leave!" Draco interrupted her building tirade, uncaring of the verbal beating she’d been about to unleash and much more concerned with the dull ache in his head that was steadily becoming more pronounced by the second.

 _"What?!_ Listen you git, I won't just be assau—HEY!" 

Before she could finish reprimanding him for his hideous behavior, Hermione found herself being jerked from the room by his iron grip. Draco tugged her along through one winding hallway to the next until they were back at the sitting room and she was being shoved towards the fireplace. 

"Mal—MALFOY! Stop it! What on earth is wrong with you?!"

There wasn't time to make up a lie, the beast was waking much earlier than before and he had more than an inkling of what woke it early.

"Leave. Go!" he snarled feeling his teeth sharpen and thicken in his mouth.

Hermione didn't seem to notice as she opted to be her extremely irritated and stubborn self. She crossed her arms and glared.

"No! You can't just be a prat to me since I've arrived, argue with me, insult me, shove me around your home, do...whatever it was _that_ was back in the library, and then tell me to leave. I'm not some little slag here for your amusement you fucking wanker! Now you will start behaving like a sensible wizard, Draco Malfoy, and explain yourself or Merlin help me I'll hex your bollocks off!"

Draco growled, the deep timbre lost on her while he took his turn at invading her space. 

He towered over her now, all hard lines of transforming chiseled muscle. Snatching up a handful of floo powder, he jerked her small form flush to his. With his other palm on her rear, he pressed her hips to his, barely restraining himself from doing anything else.

Hermione's eyes widened for just a second but then his face was right there next to hers with their cheeks pressed together and his breath hot on her ear. She felt his tongue dart out and trace the outer shell of it. It was rough and not unpleasant, making her shiver before he moved on to sucking her earlobe in between his teeth—teeth that felt too sharp and yet so, so very good. 

The moan slipped out before she could help herself and she felt his hand grip her arsecheek harder in response. Something hard and tantalizingly warm pressed against her belly.

"Tomorrow," he rumbled the single strained word that was little more than a growl. 

And just like that he wrenched himself away, threw the handful of powder to the fire and spoke a location subsequently shoving her backwards and watching her startled, confused – and he guessed – even more outraged face be sucked away through the floo. 

It would've been funny if not for the unfortunate timing of this curse.

As soon as she was clear of the hearth, Draco closed his location to the floo network, slumping forward and gripping the mantel. The transformation came on quickly now, black nails ripping through his well-manicured ones and curling into nasty things that would rend even the thickest hide. Callouses grew on his palms and fingers, darkening to rough leather pads, hands lengthening and widening along with his broadening frame. 

A howl of pain ripped from his throat, deepening in pitch with changing vocal chords and the bulking of muscle that shredded his once nice clothing. His face cracked, jaw extended, forming the muzzle that housed all of his now massive and razor-sharp teeth.

Draco stumbled from where he had a death grip on the small shelf as his feet reformed. His heels lifted and lengthened, forcing him onto the balls of his feet until he fell onto all fours. The change ran through him and the coarse, coppery coat that belonged to the beast flowed over him, chasing out his humanity with its return.

He bellowed, a monstrous sound at the completion of the change. His blood pumped angrily through his veins and with the beast's instincts now pushing to the forefront there was little else he found himself wanting to do than find the female again and take her to rut. Her scent was all over him, lingering in his nose, drowning him with the need to _mate._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> What even is this?


	5. The Plan

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Monday, January 22, 2001 – 9:00PM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
Hermione moved another file to the ever-growing stack in front of her. She opened another to scan over the simple moving photograph of a beautiful young blond witch, eyes catching the face of whoever shot the image a bit nervously then relaxing and donning a pleasant smile, head tilted ever so slightly to one side. Searching for something in the lines of text beneath the photo, she shook her head and put this one in a different pile. 

She opened another one, a too familiar face staring at her. A large mane of auburn curls framed the woman's face, head tilted down slightly with chocolate eyes stern and focused on the photographer. It took a moment before the features in the picture relaxed and she saw her own smile quirk back at her. It was just the slightest upturn of her lips, making it more of a smirk than anything. 

Had she already made it to 'G'? 

Hermione slammed the folder shut and tossed it to the far side of her desk away from the others.

"Stupid GIT!" she exclaimed for what was likely the hundredth time since she arrived to her office.

Hermione rubbed at her face with both hands, elbows propped on her desk as she let out several frustrated and muffled sounds. She'd long since removed her jacket, the sleeves of her frilly little shirt were rolled to the elbows, her hair mussed and barely hanging on in the clip at the back of her head, and her shoes were abandoned somewhere off to one side of her desk.

With Draco’s unceremonious shove through the green flames of his fireplace she'd ended up back at the Ministry. There weren't words to describe how pissed off she’d been at his crazy mood-swinging behavior and she'd immediately tried to go back to give him a piece of her mind only to find the destination closed off. Afterwards, Hermione had spent several very long minutes screaming obscenities at the stone and soot before she'd given up and stomped off to her office. In an attempt to set herself back on track and do some actual work, she'd spent the last couple of hours rifling through files of known witches in the surrounding area to try and help with his case. 

“Tomorrow, he said. Tomorrow my arse."

A flush crept into her cheeks as she remembered the feel of his hand gripping that very arse. The way he’d ground her hips against his and how she could so very plainly feel the hardness of his—of _him_ …it made her fidget in her chair. 

“What the bloody hell, happened?” she groaned into her palms.

Asking it aloud did little to help her answer the question.

They’d never liked each other in school. 

Well…alright…she _may_ have taken a passing interest in him. She could at least admit to having given him a once over at one point, yet however pretty a face he had, his insufferable attitude made any kind of desire for him fizzle and die in a splendidly dramatic fashion.

_'But then they weren't in school anymore, now were they?'_

Hermione huffed at herself and dismissed the notion, going back to searching through the stack of files in front of her. 

Initially, she'd gone to her office to blow off some steam in the confines of a familiar place instead of the open halls of the Ministry. Eventually, she turned to what she'd hoped would distract her from thinking too much about Malfoy's hot and cold and utterly confusing attitude from before and decided to focus on what she knew of his case. She didn't have the answers to the 'why' on everything she really wanted to know, but both of them at least knew one thing: he needed to be married. And soon.

If she were honest, she was surprised that he hadn't been taken up by one of the eligible witches already, what with him being a Malfoy and all. She supposed his family's sketchy loyalties during the war had something to do with it. Even the normal pool of Purebloods were weary of having anything to do with them after their immediate proximity to Voldemort. That was part of the reason he’d been working so diligently to restore his family to the good graces of Wizarding Britain—at least that's some of what he'd announced in a formal conference release at one point. 

He wanted to clarify his and his family's position in the world as reformed and law abiding citizens. His name had come up in The Daily Prophet more than once as a headlining article. Hermione could pretend that she knew nothing of what he'd been up to for the past few years at various fundraiser events and conferences…but she'd be a liar. 

It's hard to shake someone you grew up with...enemy or not. But again, they weren't in school anymore and they weren't at war anymore either. Considering she was working to help him solve this family curse case, she guessed she couldn't really consider him even an enemy any longer.

He was, however, still an incorrigible twat.

Hermione worked through the rest of the stack in relative silence, having only to pull herself out of a daze a modest handful of times whenever her mind would wander to his lips or his teeth or his tongue…

She shivered.

“Ugh! Get a bloody hold of yourself,” she mumbled and checked her mantel clock, moving to clean up her mess and maybe finally go home.

Sitting in front of her she now had two distinct piles. The pile on the left was a tall stack of folders she'd dubbed ‘unavailable.’ These were witches who were married, in other sorts of partnerships, or were Muggle-born. In contrast, the unimpressive stack on the right contained the profiles of witches who were noted as single and were Purebloods or Half-bloods. 

“You’d have more prospects if you weren’t an idiot wanker who’d sooner swallow his own tongue than be married to a Muggle-born…” Her thoughts drifted back to his initial unpleasant reaction to her touching him during their row earlier and her expression twisted into a sneer. “Twat. Good enough for your prick but not much else—stupid _arse.”_

Ready to be done for the night, Hermione finished packing up with more ferocity than strictly necessary. She took the large stack of ‘unavailables’ back to the records hall, leaving them at a station so the clerks could file them in the morning. 

Tromping back into her office, she scooped the remaining ‘availables’ into her briefcase.

“Oh for— _augh!_ Bollocks!” Hermione let out a loud groan when she spotted her own file still on the corner of her desk. 

She stood there eying it and debating on if she wanted to go all the way back down to records and return it, but when her stupid little clock started chiming twelve, she decided against it. Shoving the file into her briefcase with the others, she made a mental note to drop it off in the morning before she headed to the Manor. 

That settled, she snatched her jacket back up and made her way to the Atrium to finally go home.

  
  
_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_**_  
 _ **Tuesday, January 23, 2001 – 10:00AM**_  
 _ **-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--**_

  
"Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit!"

Hermione rolled out of bed, stumbling and nearly taking a header into her nightstand. 

She was late.

_Very_ late.

She'd made it home just after midnight but the stress of the day had apparently wrung her out and she'd slept right through her alarm.

This was just peachy. 

Just fucking _brilliant._

Not only was she now late to work, she was late to work for Malfoy and was expected there no later than 8 in the morning!

Hermione zipped about her small bedroom, rifling through the clothes hanging in her closet with an agitated growl. She tore several items off hangars that she reckoned _seemed_ okay together…if you squinted and had a vibrant imagination.

Not having the time to worry about it, she instead worked on pulling on her clothes, and brushing her teeth, and untangling the mess of her hair — mostly all at the same time — until she at least resembled the good-hearted spirit of respectability.

Snatching up her briefcase, Hermione hurried to the floo. With her fireplace barred from accessing Malfoy Manor directly, she’d have to head to the Ministry and go straight from the Atrium to his home.

Hopefully, he’d not be too cross about it—she needed this job.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >_>


	6. The Challenge

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _  
_**Tuesday, January 23, 2001 – 10:45AM** _  
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

Draco flipped through the pages of an old journal, looking intently for something that mentioned triggers to the cursed transformation while he passed the time waiting for his lazy caseworker. 

He was sure that the early…event from the night before was because of his emotions getting the best of him, but it would be nice to have a little confirmation. So far, all he'd found were mentions of some sort of carry-over of senses as the days went on. Apparently, the more changes he went through, the more he would retain several traits of the beast's, making it more and more difficult as time went on to achieve what needed to happen in order to break his curse.

Wonderful.

It was exactly what he wanted to learn.

As he read on, his stomach turned sour. The journal described evidence of the heightening of things like smell and hearing and strength, not to mention a gradual decrease of reasoning capabilities even after returning to his human state.

Absolutely wonderful.

If he hadn’t been at the other end of this curse, he would almost applaud the thoroughness of it. With so many animalistic traits sticking around while in human form the longer it went on, the victim would have a much harder time trying to function well enough to break the spell. Also, although he hadn’t tried particularly hard to find a witch that would marry him just yet, he was fairly certain that women didn’t tend to fancy literal monsters in their beds. Or on their arms. Or devouring them as a midnight snack.

Draco sneered at it all.

He had time yet. So far, his higher brain functions were still in tact when the beast had taken over his body. He’d even been able to speak, though creating words and sentences with that great fanged maw wasn’t the easiest, nor his favorite thing to try and do.

His thoughts were still his own and he remembered most of the nights with full clarity—at least when there weren’t more primal needs that were competing for control. Like last night.

A shudder ran through him from head to toe.

He’d barely restrained the beast—restrained _himself_ —from sniffing out a certain snarky witch to fuck her into oblivion. Instead, he’d opted to just destroy one of the spare bedrooms of the manor and all its occupying furniture.

It was a fair compromise.

Draco suppressed another shudder, remembering her moan from when he had her in this very room, in front of _that_ very fireplace. 

His eyes darted up from the pages of the journal, stared hard at the still unoccupied fireplace, and back down trying very hard to shake off the vivid memory.

It’d been throaty, untamed, and had cut a lightning path straight to his groin making him ready— _oh-so-ready_ —to take her right there. 

She'd been ready too—he’d scented her. Her arousal was thick in the air between them, calling to him in every way her body could. 

He remembered it so clearly that even now it made his cock twitch, made it hard and made him shift in his seat in a feeble attempt to ignore the very pressing urge to wallow in her scent.

Draco slammed the journal shut with a snarl and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of him, full-on glaring at the fireplace that still had yet to deliver his caseworker. He thought about getting up to check on the floo, to make sure he’d remembered to open it back up because maybe he was just a big dumb idiot and it was his fault she wasn’t there when it flared to life.

The witch occupying far too much of his mind stepped through the flames with a tense look on her face and a modest black leather case in her left hand. Her eyes darted around the room and found him quickly at his perch on the couch. Hermione’s expression flickered between worry, relief, anger, embarrassment, then all the way back to worry.

"Malfoy." Cordial and to the point.

"Granger," he replied. "You're late."

"I know, I’m—” Her mouth worked hard to expel the next the word, “—sorry.” 

She at least had the decency to look it.

“I overslept. I was up late last night working on your case." 

Hermione made her way to the couch, choosing to sit as far away from him as possible and also to completely avoid talking about what happened between them for as long as possible. Never happened.

Draco eyed her warily.

"What could you possibly have been doing with it that kept you up so late?"

There were really any number of things she could have looked into, honestly, but he didn't think he'd given her nearly enough information for concocting a plan yet. No sooner did the words leave his mouth and that thought run through his head did he chastise himself. 

_Of course_ she would've thought of some kind of plan already. This was Hermione Granger. There was a reason she was assigned to his case at his request of the best specialist available.

Hermione glanced sideways at him with a reproachful look that echoed his thoughts.

"Seeing as you declined several other avenues of investigation very early on during our...meeting—" She cleared her throat and willed away the flush of color to her cheeks. "I decided to work on the only thing that we really _do_ know at this point—you need to be married." 

Hermione set her briefcase onto the table before them and flipped open the latches to retrieve the stack of files. She set them in the spot in front of him and motioned for him to look.

At her insistence, Draco plucked the top file from the stack and flipped it open to reveal the soft, smiling face of a pleasant looking blond witch. He arched an eyebrow at the woman beside him but turned back to the page with the photo and read through the profile listed beneath it. Blinking, he finally closed it and set it back down in favor of reclining on the couch. 

Draco spread both his arms across the back of the sofa, quietly enjoying the way Hermione fidgeted and did everything in her power to avoid meeting his stare again.

"So... you want me to marry one of… _these?"_ He gestured to the pile and looked to her face for confirmation.

With another clearing of her throat, this one decidedly more irate than the last, Hermione shrugged and nodded. 

"More or less. I pulled the files of all the known witches of the area last night and went through them one by one.”

Both eyebrows shot up at that—she’d been busy.

“I've already filtered out the ineligible witches—the ones that weren't single, the Muggle-borns—you know, the undesirables. So you don't have to worry about that." 

Draco flinched. 

He'd worked very hard since his trial to help his family restore themselves in the eyes of his fellow wizards and witches since, unfortunately, it seemed the old ways were truly the ways of the past. His work on his family’s reformation led to many forced meetings about the integration of magical men and women who didn't have as clean of a lineage as his and he'd found himself surprisingly open to the idea after a point. 

Sure, he wouldn't be going of his own accord to any activist meetings or rallies without getting something out of it, but that was still more than he could say for the version of himself from ten years ago. Not that he'd ever truly been 100% for the eradication of anyone with any Muggle ties—Muggles, Muggle-born, Half-bloods—despite the venom he spat all through their years in school. 

Either way, he wasn’t entirely sold on this particular plan.

"I hate to make things more difficult, Granger, but I'm not really one for arranged marriage."

Only part of the statement was true. 

Draco did so often enjoy making things difficult for her. Her frustration tasted divine. 

That aside, he’d counted himself well and thoroughly done with other people forcing him into things. He didn’t want to be slotted to marry some witch just because she didn’t have any better prospects than a washed up wizard with a beast problem. Here he’d spent his entire life up to his 18th year doing things that others required of him. He’d been proper, he’d been poised, he’d done everything the perfect Pureblood way and fell in line when he’d thought it counted.

And where did that get him?

Enslaved to a crazy Half-blooded snake-man-wizard… _thing_ hellbent on destroying an entire population because he didn’t like the cut of their jib.

Draco had been marked—branded forever because of his duty to uphold tradition.

And so here he was…still cleaning up that mess, still trying to make everything right, and now just trying to stay human.

If he had a choice between giving that up because he opted to finally have a say in his life or breaking the curse by spending the rest of it in a miserable business arrangement, he wasn’t sure the latter was the better option.

Hermione did look at Draco then, studying his face but finding it the calculated mask he’d perfected so many years ago staring right back at her. Their stares locked for several long moments before she ran her tongue over the tops of her teeth in a slow, drawn out motion as though it would keep her from saying something…unpleasant.

"Why don’t you just look through them and narrow down some candidates? We’ll set up some dates so you can—"

"Matchmaking, Granger? Really now, is that what I'm paying you for?” he taunted.

"I don't see you having come up with any better ideas! I mean, if you’ve got something else then—” Her tirade was clipped short by a loud, drawn out, rumbling growl from her stomach. 

Hermione covered her belly in red-faced horror. The color to her cheeks was made all the worse by Draco’s sudden burst of laughter. She scowled.

"Put the death glare away." 

His laughter died down into chuckles and he scooped up the files in front of him. 

"Come on then, we'll have lunch while I look through these and you can fulfill your destiny as the great Draco Malfoy's wing man."

Nodding in the direction of the little room they’d occupied the day before, he moved off without bothering to see if she was coming. 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed to slits but she closed her briefcase anyway with a grumbled curse. It’d been nearly 24 hours since she’d partaken of any actual kind of sustenance and was absolutely famished. She didn’t have the patience for Draco Malfoy on a normal day, much less on an empty stomach and, despite being late, they still had several hours ahead of them. 

If only for the moment, she considered it a truce and followed after him.

Draco led her to the tea room and bid one of the house elves to fetch them tea and sandwiches. For her part, Hermione tried to contain her enthusiasm but at the sight of the adorable sandwich points and the smell of fresh salmon and citrus, her mouth watered and her stomach let out another unrelenting gurgle.

Draco snorted doing well to contain his laughter this time.

"Help yourself," he said and motioned to the meal.

Picking up one of the sandwiches for himself, he took a bite, chewing thoughtfully while looking through the file he'd only glanced at before. After several minutes of contemplation, he swallowed and looked over at Hermione who was fighting a losing battle of trying to slow the pace at which she devoured her tiny sandwiches. 

"How exactly are you envisioning that I narrow them down?” he asked.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but closed it quickly before she flashed him the unruly sight of her mostly chewed food. 

Some chewing, swallowing, and a few sips of tea later, she spoke again, "Look through them. Sort them into categories if you prefer. Each 'folio has the eligible witch's name, photograph, and general statistics including age and a brief overview of their familial ties as I figured that would likely be of some concern to you. I've done my best to pull only candidates that seemed a plausible match for you based on Pureblood customs—that is, taking into account their family's monetary resources and station within the wizarding community. 

“I may have missed some things, so you'll have to look over them to narrow the selection further. Once you have a group you'd like to start with, I’ll get with the appropriate department at the Ministry to obtain more up-to-date information and we'll arrange a date for you with whomever you wish. If necessary, we can conduct the dates in tiers, each would have a first date with you and then anyone you want to eliminate from the pool will be excluded from the second dates and so on and so forth."

To her credit, she explained all of this without a hint of disdain in her tone as though it were a purely academic exercise. 

_‘Hell,’_ Draco thought, _‘to her it probably was.’_

"Merlin, woman! You make it all sound like it's so simple for me to find love in a stack of papers! Not everyone can be as enthused by text as yourself." He looked at her from his side of the table and huffed, tossing the folder with the blond witch's profile off to his left.

Hermione eyed him with a sour expression but bit back whatever matching words danced on the tip of her tongue in favor of trying to uphold the truce.

"There is nothing wrong with enjoying books, Malfoy. With a library like the one you've got here I would think you enjoy a little bit of text yourself...but I digress." She paused to take another bite of her sandwich. "Besides, you never said you were looking for love. I assumed you were looking for a solution to your problem. Perhaps the next census we conduct should include things like 'do you like holding hands and taking long romantic walks on the beach?'" 

Hermione rolled her eyes and took a sip of tea.

"Do you?" Draco asked over the top of another folder. He closed it and set it off to his right.

Hermione didn’t like the glint in his eyes.

"Do I _what?"_ she asked.

"Do you or do you not like holding hands and taking romantic walks on the beach?" He smirked as he added another folder to the pile on his left. "Come on now, how am I supposed to add these qualities to your file if you don't answer the questions?"

"What are you talking about? I'm not on the list, Malfoy, don't be daft." 

The words left her and mere seconds later, she paled.

_‘Wait.’_

She'd removed herself from the eligible candidates, didn't she? 

Yes. Yes, she was sure she did. She remembered it with the utmost clarity.

She set her file aside in her briefcase to take with her and return to the filing room that morn—

_**‘Shit.’** _

"Oh _really?"_ he drawled and plucked the single file at his right side back up and flipped it around to show her own smirking face. Flipping it again so he could see it, he recited the words on the page, "Hermione Jean Granger, date of birth 19 September, 1979. Five foot, five inches tall, brown hair, brown eyes. Blood status Muggle-born, marital status _single._ So then: do you, or don't you?” 

Draco’s grin was devilish and grew wider with how she paled more and more after each statistic he read aloud.

"Wh-wuh—give that here!" 

Hermione lunged across the table but Draco moved the folder clear of her reach behind him in an outstretched hand. 

She growled.

"Give. That. To. Me!” 

Each snarl was punctuated by another attempt at snatching back her file, only to be met with the infuriating reality of his long limbs. With another rumbling snarl, she landed back onto both feet on her side of the table and tossed her arms up.

“As you so plainly just read, blood status is Muggle-born. I do _not_ fit into your idiotic requirements for a wife so give that here!" 

Another grab and a miss.

_"Malfoy!"_

"Granger!" he mocked and his grin grew into a lascivious smile that incited her further. "They're simple questions, love. It won't kill you to answer them. We want to be fair with our evaluations, do we not?"

All her insistent reaching set free one of the buttons of her blouse and Draco couldn’t help the way his gaze flicked down to glimpse the wondrous view of the tops of her breasts. He faltered long enough for her to take notice and Hermione let out another growl, quickly pulling herself back upright and buttoning herself back up. 

With hands on her hips and a scowl on her face, she spoke through gritted teeth, "You _can't_ be serious."

A rumbling snarl in the back of his mind openly disapproved of the disappearance of her supple stretch of skin. There was a beat of silence between them before Draco realized she’d spoken.

That lost moment of time was unsettling and sobering.

Draco swallowed and pulled an arrogant mask into place, flipping the folder in his hand open again and hoping she missed the slight tremble to it.

“Be a sport,” he said with more steadiness than he felt.

None the wiser to his sudden shift in demeanor, Hermione rolled her eyes and stomped her way around the table, stopping next to him.

“Yes,” she said, holding her hand out expectantly.

"To which?" Draco backed away when she reached for it, having to remind himself that he’d been toying with her.

"Both," she replied from between clenched teeth. "Now, **my file,** Malfoy." 

At last, he relented and placed the manila folder in her hand, watching as she stomped back to her briefcase, snapped the latches open, dropped the folder inside, and locked it all back up.

"Romantic streak to you then?" he asked.

Hermione shot him the nastiest of sidelong glares.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I prefer to keep my romantic life private and intimate. There is absolutely no need to parade around your status like a peacock for others' attention.” She folded her arms.

Draco snorted and took the opening where he saw it, if only to make him feel better about the stirring presence in his mind.

"Well, I suppose if you were attached to someone like the Weasel you wouldn't really want to broadcast it. It's a good thing you managed to slough him off."

"Draco Malfoy!" she scolded, "Does your arrogance truly know no boundaries? Just because Ronald and I are no longer together—"

"Or on speaking terms."

"—it does NOT mean that you can just go about insulting him all willy-nilly!" She waved her hands about at the last bit.

Draco watched her gesticulating with a keen eye, ignoring how her sharp movements raised his hackles and stirred that sleeping predator’s presence even more, choosing instead to double down on his taunting.

"You're hardly friends now, though, am I right? Then it really shouldn't matter what I say about the prick."

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly at the audacity of his comment.

"Wh-who do you think you are?! UGH! You are such an insufferable little— ** _AUGH!"_** She barely stopped herself from calling him anything worse and turned on her heel to march down the hallway.

At her exit, he nearly leaped to his feet, his instinct to follow looming ever larger.

"Where are you going?” Draco called out to her retreating back.

_"The loo!"_

He made sure to keep her in his sights, watching her turn down one hall to the right before yelling out at her again, "It's the other way."

 _"Thank. You,"_ she snarled and by her tone, it was evident those weren’t the two words she’d really wanted to toss his way.

Draco watched Hermione’s brief reappearance into the main hall to course-correct herself and her subsequent vanishing down another corridor. He heard the bathroom door shut and the sound managed to rattle free some of the tension that’d gathered in his shoulders. He blew the rest of it out with a shuddered sigh.

Sparing a glance out the window to ensure himself that it was still very much daytime, Draco shook his head and went back to reclining in his chair, feeling even less like sorting through the rest of the eligible women in the stacks in front of him. 

When a handful of minutes passed and she still hadn't come back yet, he craned his neck in the direction she’d gone. He managed to pick up the sound of water running and with his enhanced hearing, he could even hear her faint grumbling from behind the bathroom door down the hall. 

Frowning, Draco eyed Hermione’s closed briefcase. Mulling over it only a few seconds longer, he retrieved the briefcase and flipped the latches open, retrieving her file once again.

Draco flipped past the first page of statistics to pertinent academic and career information, mumbling his way through the print on the page.

“‘Miss Granger was the top of her graduating class with a long history of academic fervor. Despite her obvious disadvantage of being a Muggle-born with no previous exposure to the magical world, she consistently met and far surpassed the majority of the students of her age, dwarfing even several of her fellow graduating Ravenclaw classmates' scores by leaps and bounds.’ Blah blah blah..."

Draco skimmed through the rest of the full page of praise by the nameless reviewer. Whoever they were, they were practically tripping over themselves fawning over her 'superior intelligence.’ He didn't need to read all of that. Heck, he lived most of it—much to his chagrin. 

Before the complications of Voldemort coming back, there were no shortage of summers where he’d return home from school to an earful from his parents about his academic achievements not being up to snuff. To be beaten by a Mudblood in nearly all his courses...well, father hadn't cared much for that at all.

Continuing his perusal of her file, Draco’s eyebrows shot straight into his hairline when he reached the section with her magical aptitude test scores. Attached to the long-winded page of praise, he took in her O.W.L and N.E.W.T. marks with a slow, appreciative whistle.

 _“Tch…_ go fucking figure. The woman is a bloody machine.”

As if his words summoned her, Draco heard the telltale sound of the bathroom door opening and shutting—loudly. He glanced down the hall and back to the table. Making a hasty, ill-thought out decision, he snatched the next file off the stack and made quick work of switching the papers between the two folders. Double-checking their contents, the side of his mouth quirked up in a smirk that mirrored the small portrait of Hermione where it peeked back up at him from the inside of Astoria Greengrass’ file folder.

The sound of Hermione’s shoes on the tile was drawing ever closer. With a snap of his wrist, Draco plopped the Astoria folder onto the pile directly in front of him and returned everything else to its rightful place, closing and latching her briefcase with just enough time to spare.

Immediately upon returning, Hermione spotted Draco in an all-too-relaxed sprawl in his chair. She paused in the doorway and when he didn’t move save to give her a very metered look as though he hadn’t heard her approach or simply couldn’t be arsed to care, her eyes narrowed.

“What were you doing?"

"Waiting for you to get done powdering your nose of course." 

Draco flashed her one of his signature smirks and watched her bite at the inside of her cheek in response. Hermione’s lips pressed into a thin line and her eyes grew impossibly darker in a glare.

"You haven't made _any_ more progress since I left?" she asked.

Sure enough, when she looked at the spots in front of him she saw only one more file than from when she left. 

Her left eye twitched, nostrils flared, and her lips parted only enough to blow out a hot, irritated breath. 

If he couldn’t hear her counting to ten in her head, she would be surprised.

"Well...Malfoy...allow me to help you with your sorting. Then perhaps we can move on to the next phase, hmm?"

Draco brightened at her tone and flashed her an enigmatic smile pretending that the sentiment was completely lost on him. 

Pulling out the chair next to him, he patted the cushion and split the stack of 'availables' and placed some in front of her implied seat.

"I'd appreciate the help, Granger. Now, if you’d be so kind, go on and separate them into piles for blonds, brunettes, and redheads." 

Hermione's face turned red and her lip curled. 

“That’s how you're dividing them?" 

At Malfoy's half-attentive 'mmhmm' she took in and released another deep breath before she sat heavily in the chair he'd pulled out for her. 

_'Remember…you need this job.’_

"You are such a _pig..."_ she huffed, glaring daggers down at the work before her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \o/ Only like...30 something more chapters to upload. :U
> 
> Huzzah!


	7. The Pain

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Tuesday, January 23, 2001 – 4:00PM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
If anyone had told her that she and the boy that tormented her throughout her entire stint at Hogwarts would be sitting across from one another, having tea and pastries while they created a more sensible list of women he would like a first date with – her essentially playing matchmaker for the Slytherin that could very well have whatever woman he wanted – she would've hexed them within an inch of their lives for being such a dreadful and venomous liar. 

But there they were. 

They'd finished sorting out the witches per the oh-so-important quality of hair color. It took far longer than truly necessary what with all the bickering between the two. She called him callous and he called her a prude and things degenerated from there all the way past noon.

And so here they _still_ were.

Hermione slid away from the table with a spiral bound notebook propped easily on her crossed knee, a simple self-inking quill in her right hand. 

"Alright, Malfoy, let's try and have this finished by the time I leave today, shall we? If we can produce a proper list of who you want to meet with then I can spend tomorrow gathering more information and have your first set of dates set up for you by this weekend. I figured we'll create a static list of your personal preferences and further narrow the selection and then you’ll be able to put concerted effort into actually courting one of these witches." She gestured to the three stacks of folders in front of him.

Draco was slouched in his seat, head lolled back against the backrest. He let out a derisive snort before straightening and shooting her a practiced sneer.

"I'm beginning to see why you're single."

She bristled but managed to _not_ immediately lash out at him...although there was still time yet.

"I'm simply trying to streamline this process for you. It's not my fault you haven't been able to find a woman on your own yet at twenty years old and now you need help getting a wife." 

_‘Oops.’_ Well...she thought she was getting better at not lashing out at him anyway.

His grey eyes sparked, the narrowed molten slivers drilling into her where she sat while the sneer on his face grew.

"Fine then. Pros: long legs, nice arse, pouty lips, soft skin—" He ticked off each trait with the fingers of one hand watching Hermione grow more and more outraged. "Oh and **_huge_** ti—"

“That is _ENOUGH!”_

Hermione was on her feet in a second, palms slammed into the table as her notepad and quill were completely forgotten. 

"Why do you insist on being so difficult?!”

"Sorry, Granger." He wasn't—his tone and glare said as much. "I just find your bright idea to be insulting. I'm not some prized pig to sell off to the highest bidder. As I said before, if I'd wanted an arranged marriage, my parents could very well have accomplished that."

_‘What? Wasn't he just for this idea earlier? What in the bloody blazes of hell was wrong with this man?! He was hot and cold, on and off—’_

That tenuous control over her temper snapped. 

"Your parents aren't _here,_ now are they? Your father is off in a cell in Azkaban to rot for the rest of his miserable life and your moth—"

“Do **_NOT_** talk about my mother." Draco was on his feet now, having gone from lazy and taunting to absolutely livid in half a second.

Hermione’s anger drained out of her quickly at the realization of what she was about to say about Narcissa. She never knew the woman very well but it was no secret about her failing health and recent admittance to St. Mungo's ward for end of life care—the Prophet saw to that. From across the table, Draco’s glare pinned her where she stood and she had the decency to shut her mouth with a loud _clack_ of her jaw. She could see the fine tremble in his arms and shoulders, saw how his fists clenched with the sudden burst of rage at the words that had barely formed on her tongue and never made it past her teeth.

His anger didn't scare her. It was that something else that lurked behind his eyes that did. It wasn’t fury or hate, but something she recalled vividly from a time none of them really liked to talk about. There was hurt there, hurt and fear and a very hollow thing glossing his eyes. 

Her stomach lurched.

Hermione shook her head, eyes closed, and rubbed her temple, chasing away the unwelcome thoughts of her own parents’ fate squirming their way into her head. 

"I'm sorry...Malfoy, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." 

She chanced a look up at him from beneath her lashes and could see the fine twitch in his jaw as he remained silent, evidently working to steady his breathing against something else he wanted to say. 

"You're right. This is the only thing that I could come up with so far...but if it bothers you that much, I'll think of another way. Let me just get my things together and I'll go. I can report back to you next week with something else to try. We still have time." 

Without waiting for him to respond, she bent to pick up her paper and quill and was startled upright at the stack of papers that were thrown down onto the table in front of her.

"None of these,” he said with a harsh jerk of his chin towards the stack. All the muscles in his neck and jaw still looked tight, but he didn’t seem to be dismissing her. 

He’d also seemed to calm somewhat, so that was a plus.

Hermione blinked a few times and reached carefully for the first file. She flipped it open to see a freckled, red-haired witch smiling softly back at her.

_'The gingers...'_

She let out a faint chuckle despite herself and it did wonders to release just a little bit of the built-up tension as well.

"Wouldn't want to chance one of the Weasley’s line making their way into your family,” she teased half-heartedly. “Never know where that red hair is coming from. I can't blame you I suppose. They can be a little...intense." 

Hermione spared him a careful smile and moved the folders into her briefcase to have them refiled at the Ministry and dared to meet his eyes again. 

"That'd be almost as blasphemous as marrying one of mine, eh?" It came out a bit more forlorn than she'd intended even with the smirk she offered.

It took Draco a moment to wrap his head around the quip at her own expense and found that, surprisingly, it didn't make him feel better at all. He nodded anyway.

"Right."

The air between them was tight and awkward and positively suffocating.

In light of these terrible last few minutes, Hermione opted for the easiest and most prudent course of action and what they’d been doing about the almost-intimacy of their first afternoon together as well as all the other…things that had happened: she would pretend as though it _hadn’t._

Hermione smoothed the lines of her skirt with clammy palms and cleared her throat.

"Excuse me. I’m just going to run to the loo and then we can continue if that's alright with you?" 

At his nod, she made a hasty exit to the bathroom, swallowing around the growing lump in her throat as she moved out of the room and disappeared from sight.

Draco watched her go, a frown tugging down the corners of his mouth. Her skin looked paler than before.

He was jarred from his observation by the loud shutting of the bathroom door. He grunted and shook his head.

_‘Why should he be concerned about whatever is going on in that bushy-haired bird brain of hers anyway?’_

Shaking his head again, he reached across the table to snatch up Hermione’s pad and quill only to see it divided neatly into a left and right side. In her perfect cursive script, each column was labeled 'Pros' and 'Cons' respectively. He took another quick glance at the hall she'd retreated down and took to filling out each column appropriately.

**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**   
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-..-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**   
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**

Hermione looked at her haggard expression in the bathroom mirror. Dipping her cupped hands under the running faucet water, she splashed her face several times as though it would will away the pasty complexion that’d taken root. 

“Come on, come on, come on...it's okay, it's okay. That was three years ago, it's over...”

She let out a shuddered breath and felt the sting behind her eyes building despite her well-practiced mantra.

She shouldn't have been so insensitive.

Complete and utter asshole or not, Draco Malfoy didn't deserve what she'd almost said about his mother. She had absolutely no right, after all, considering what she'd done to her own parents. 

The memory charm she’d used during the war was simple enough.

It had been to protect them—to keep them safe.

And it really _did_ work.

…it worked until she went to reverse the spell, anyway.

The day Hermione tried to restore her parents’ memories, she learned a very valuable thing: memories are tricky.

Some things shouldn't be tampered with and, only if absolutely necessary, should be done with a great deal of caution and care. The consequences of messing with someone's mind were made all too real when she saw the light of recognition return to their mother and father’s eyes only to see it be snuffed out as quickly as it came. 

In the simplest of comparisons, taking someone’s memories was a lot like removing a child’s toy from a blister pack. No matter how great of care you took in preserving the packaging, whatever you took out of it never fit back in it in quite the same way.

By the time her parents made it to the Muggle hospital, it was far too late. All she had hoped for then was that they knew her again and didn't hate her terribly for what she'd done. 

Merlin, she just hoped they knew her one last time…

A strangled cry tore from her throat and Hermione fought to clamp her lips shut again to stifle it lest Malfoy catch on that she was having a bloody breakdown in his hall bathroom.

"It's okay...it's okay...it's okay..." she resumed the mantra in a soft whisper. 

Her words grew more and more distorted as another sob shook her shoulders. She buried her face in her hands with a muffled wail as the memory of her father, of his eyes full of his vibrant personality, recognition, and love for just for those few cherished seconds were lost to her forever.

It was too much.

Trembling terribly, Hermione crumpled to the cold tile floor, smothering her ragged sobs with her palms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D:


	8. The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I did the thing that I said I wasn't going to do and I rewrote a lot of this chapter. I don't think that'll be the case for a lot of future chapters but we'll wait and see.
> 
> Le sigh. 
> 
> For what it's worth, I think it's probably better than the original content. (The latter having made me cringe...quite a lot when I was reading through to upload.)
> 
> Anyway! Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> _*whispers*beastick...it's not here yet...just the tip._

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _  
_**Tuesday, January 23, 2001 – 5:30PM** _  
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
Draco stared at the little pad of paper intently, flitting the feathery tip of Hermione’s quill back and forth across his lips. So engrossed in his task, he almost didn’t notice her return to the hall until her heels announced her presence. His response was automatic.

"Took you long enough." 

Draco had no idea how long she was actually gone. 

"Here, I'm done with the list." 

He glanced at her as she seated herself again and frowned when he spotted her reddened eyes and the unmistakable traces of moisture still hanging onto her eyelashes. 

"Granger, what happened?"

Hermione just shook her head and smiled a smile that was a little too wide too be genuine. She opened her mouth to reply and ended up having to clear her throat before she could.

“Nothing,” she croaked. “Let me see what you have.” She reached across the table, motioning for him to hand her the paper.

Draco shot her a sideways glance at the way her arm trembled and her voice shook but he handed her the pad anyway. 

"I've filled out what I could think of but I don't think you'll be able to find most of this on their papers,” he said.

Hermione scanned his list, going over each item and even managing a smile at some of them.

 _Pros: Bright, motivated, brunette, short, big tits._

She chuckled despite herself. 

_Cons: Chatty, bossy, terrible manners, small tits._

The very last tricked a snort out of her and did wonders for her disposition. 

"I agree,” she began in a mocking tone, “I don't think we'll be able to narrow the list down by their _tits_ based only on the information we have here. As much as I’ve petitioned them to do so, the Ministry still hasn’t put in the section for ‘breast size’ on the intake forms.”

She tried to give him a look—one that would imply that he’d done yet another thing that incorrigible twats do—but she lacked much of the energy to be convincing after she’d cried it all out on his fancy bathroom floor.

Her somber response left Draco frowning. He’d been expecting a much different reaction—hell, he’d been banking on it. 

_‘Time to try a different tactic.’_

"Maybe with a few more pictures,” he said and shrugged. “But I'll need to get a gauge on them."

"Gauge?" 

The incredulous look she sent his way had her looking just that much more like her normal self.

"Yeah." Draco nodded and stood, cupping his hands in front of his chest while making a slight groping motion. "We could say 'big tits' would be something like a handful and a half; small being less than that."

She blinked, dumbfounded. Some of her ire was stirred with his idiotic notion. On some level, she knew he was doing it to get a rise out of her. She knew it, yet she couldn’t help herself.

This was familiar.

Familiar was good.

"Malfoy...you can't go fondling your potential wives to eliminate the ones with smaller bosoms."

Draco looked appalled at the insinuation.

"Of course not! Granger, what do you think I am, some sort of barbarian?" 

A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes when her lips pursed and her previously sullen expression began shifting into something he’d seen far too many times in school when she’d been on the cusp of telling him off every which way ‘til Sunday.

"Right…then precisely who are you intending to grope to establish your ‘gauge?’"

"You, of course."

A pause. 

_"Pardon?"_

"Don’t worry. As Slughorn used to say, ‘it's purely academic.’ All I need to do is cup them. _Then_ I can compare your breasts—in pictures of course—to those on other witches. That way if I put, say, you and Pans' pictures side by side, I’d know if she would be considered 'big' or 'small' or—"

"Or just right like a spot of bloody porridge?” she snapped at him.

“It was just an example,” he said, still standing there and groping at invisible breasts with an extremely self-satisfied smirk in place.

Hermione’s grief was sufficiently shifted to the back of her mind thanks to the smarmy git in front of her. She’d regained enough of her fire to glare.

“One—” She ticked off her count on her thumb. “—Pansy is not in the stack. And two—” She added a second finger to the count. “—are you taking the fucking _piss?”_

Draco shrugged and said, “I’m just looking for solutions.”

Hermione was quite sure it was physically impossible for her eyes to narrow any further than they already had although they tried.

All traces of _his_ earlier down-turned mood were gone with his teasing. Although his egging her on did manage help to nudge her out of her personal pity party, her pride made her bristle at the thought of him making his own self feel better at her expense.

_‘Right.’_

Steeling herself, Hermione marched around the table to where Draco stood, thankfully not having resumed his phantom groping. He was suppressing a grin which helped her to make up her mind.

"Alright," she said and began unbuttoning the top buttons of her blouse.

"Come on, Granger! It'll only take two seconds—wait, what?” Draco’s smirk vanished into a look of utter shock and puzzlement trying to determine if he’d heard correctly. “What did you say?" 

"I said _alright,"_ she spoke again and this time it was patronizing in the very same manner she would always use to correct others’ spell casts and wand movements. 

Coming to a stop only a scant foot or so before him, her hands worked to relieve her blouse buttons of their duty in holding the material of her shirt shut. That close, she could really tell just how tall he’d grown over the years she’d known him.

It was at this point that he paled. He’d not actually expected her to call his bluff.

“Now, wait a minute,” he said, holding up a hand, palm forward as if to stop her.

_Pop...pop...pop..._

The innocent sounds of buttons slipping free and relaxing the fabric around her chest was louder than they had any right to be.

Draco watched, awestruck by the slow reveal of flesh. It was dappled by freckles and puckers of spell scars and looked downright delectable. His eyes traced the various marks on her skin from the long line of her neck, down to her collarbone, and further still to where they dotted the tops of her breasts…breasts, he discovered, which were nestled in the most modest shade of nude-colored satin and kissed by the tiniest, sweetest, most scandalous looking lace.

He was so very parched all of a sudden.

“Come on then,” Hermione said in an affectation of boredom, hands on her hips in a way that did wonders exposing more of her satin-clad bosom. “We haven’t got all day.” 

And before she had the chance to lose her nerve, she struck.

“Granger—” Draco’s warning was cut short by her fingers wrapping around the wrist of his outstretched hand.

In a mere manner of heartbeats, that hand and his other were tugged forward and planted firmly on either one of her breasts—one calloused mitt for each of her delicate assets.

To his credit, Draco had felt up more than one pair of tits in his day. He’d certainly done his share of snogging and groping in broom closets or abandoned classrooms during his school years and wasn’t entirely lost when it came to a woman’s figure. 

That said, it wasn’t every day that Hermione Granger, a witch who likely wouldn’t care to have a stranger piss on him if he were on fire, invited him to feel her up—made him do it.

His senses flared more to life, sharper and keener the second his flesh made contact with hers. 

Images of their encounter the night before flooded to the surface of his thoughts. Echoes of the sounds that’d escaped her, of her scent, her _taste_ —they all shorted his control and in that moment all he could think about was the feel of her. The way her breasts filled his palms, heavy in hand and perfect in heft. Even covered mostly by the nude satin, she was as soft and supple as he recalled.

Her subtle scent tickled his nose and was turning warm, heady, _thick_ —as delicious as it’d been when he had his face buried at the join of neck and shoulder not all that long ago. 

A low, hungry growl built in his chest and rumbled free from between bared, sharpening teeth.

Hermione’s sudden gasp drew his eyes up to find her skin flushed and her lips parted. Her own eyes were half-lidded and glossing over with flecks of gold erupting in her dark irises. It was then he realized he’d been stroking her through the satin, his thumbs circling her pebbled nipples and his hands massaging and kneading her flesh. 

Her skin was hot—in fact, it was steadily growing far too hot to the touch to be comfortable.

He could fix that.

He knew he could fix that.

 _How_ he knew, he wasn’t sure, but he knew.

Hermione’s fingers flexed around his wrists.

“Mafoy?” She managed the question past her fuzzy thoughts. Hermione was sure she meant to dissuade him, but all the breathy call of his name did was draw him closer.

Her eyes fluttered shut when she felt his body heat press closer, his hands slipping from her breasts to dance down her sides and travel to her bum.

Draco’s lips were at her ear.

“Bloody perfect,” he rumbled appreciatively.

  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**

  
The puff of his breath made goosebumps prickle to life all along her exposed flesh. With another growl, Draco nosed at the same spot behind her ear he’d been so interested in the night before and Hermione instinctively bared her neck to him. When she did, a louder, more feral sound erupted from his throat. The hands on her arse jerked her to hips flush to his in one single, harsh movement and he sank his teeth into the meat of her shoulder, just shy of breaking the skin.

Hermione cried out and her back bowed. A ragged, throaty moan left her at the feel of his bite and she wadded her fingers into his shirt like taloned claws. 

Draco’s hips jerked forward at the sound of her, the length of him hard and swollen and ready. He ground himself against her and his nostrils flared when a new scent bloomed to life.

“Malfoy!” she gasped. 

Hermione’s mind was clouded. The proximity of him made her head spin and she couldn’t think much past the fever heating her blood. 

Something was wrong about this. 

She knew something was wrong.

She knew it, and she couldn’t remember what.

“Draco—” His given name came out too breathily and her groping hands stilled but refused to obey her command to nudge him away. _“Draco,”_ she said again and this time managed a small shove.

He pulled away from her, a noise like grinding rocks coming from his chest and vibrating against her skin.

Her body protested—it screamed at her for every single inch of space she placed between them.

“Wait—” Even as the word left her it sounded wrong to her ears. 

_‘Why?’_

“We can’t do this, I’m—”

_‘Yours—’_

Hermione attempted to shake her head free of the confusing fog that’d enveloped it to no avail.

Her heavy-lidded eyes scanned over the man before her and she took in the way his lips peeled back off his teeth in a snarl when she separated the two of them. They seemed odd, something about the shape, and they were maybe a little too long.

Whatever it was, she lost interest in figuring it out and her hands took to roving again. 

Those hands found him firm and ready.

They slid down between the small space that’d formed between them and went straight to the crotch of his neatly tailored slacks.

 _Every_ bit of him was firm and ready.

  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**

  
Draco couldn’t think.

He was having trouble forming words. 

His mate.

She was his mate.

He wanted to please her.

Her scent was calling to him, clouding his mind, insisting she wanted him too.

Her moans and gasps and labored breaths—they all urged him to splay her out upon the table and ravage her until they were both too sore to move.

But still she pushed him away.

She nudged him back and he growled at the loss of her feverish skin pressed so close to his.

He growled until she started palming his crotch.

Her swinging behavior had his head spinning.

And then she pounced.

  
  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**

  
  
Her lips crashed into his, the initial _clack_ of their teeth drowning out the urgent voice in the back of her mind telling her that the sun had set.

The sun had set…that was important…

She couldn’t remember why.

She was sure she didn’t care.

Flushed with need, a building thrum of energy buzzed through her, urging her hands to move, her fingers to touch and stroke and _feel._

With her own snarl, she ripped Draco’s shirt free of where it’d been tucked into his trousers so she could feel more of him, skin to skin.

Except it wasn’t just skin there but a smattering of coarse hairs beneath her fingertips all across his abdomen.

Hermione stumbled over why that was so strange. Men could be hairy, she’d met quite a few who were unpleasantly so.

Draco wasn’t—unpleasant, that is.

In fact, he was quite pleasant.

And he smelled delightful, especially when she bit him.

Hermione bit hard into his bottom lip, sucking and rolling it between her teeth before soothing it with her tongue.

He snarled back at her.

Gods, he smelled and tasted _divine._

  
  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**  
  


Hermione’s blunt teeth clamped down on his lip and then he was moving—they were moving.

Draco hoisted her up his body and stumbled the few steps to the nearby table where he deposited her rather ungracefully. 

Unperturbed, she clawed at him, ripping his shirt open the rest of the way and jerking him forward so harshly he had to brace for the fall.

Framing her lithe body with one arm on either side of her head, he could see her hungry gold-flecked gaze roving over him like a tasty piece of meat. She bared her teeth in what could have been a smile yet somehow wasn’t and drew him closer with her firm, hot thighs wrapping high around his bared waist.

She rubbed herself on him and he could feel her wetness coating him through her knickers and his slacks both. His fingers bit into the table, nails darkening and curling into claws that shaved off the top few layers from the wood. He rolled his hips forward to meet her, seeking the source of the her teasing heat with a groan that vibrated through them both.

Hermione shuddered and moaned.

Each insistent thrust of his pelvis had her arse lifting off the table top and her throaty noises trickling into their kiss.

One hand, large and clawed with rough, dark pads forming on the palm combed up through Hermione’s hair, cradling her head as he massaged her tongue with his own. His snarls of pleasure reverberated through their kiss and his meaty mitts clawed small wooden spirals of the table off until they reached her thighs and he moved to grip her instead.

Draco’s thoughts were filled only with the need and desire of his mate with her perfect breasts and her perfect body and her perfect scent—he lost himself in the small woman arching up to meet him and she seemed to be losing herself too.  
  


**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**  
  


She gasped into Draco’s mouth and raked her nails down his chest.

Hermione wanted to mark him—she had the burning, overwhelming urge to sink her nails into his body and leave him marked for all to see.

The buzzing energy in her limbs grew loud in her ears making them ring.

Images that seemed more like memories flashed in her vision.

Her desire for him filled and overflowed her senses.

_She’d waited too long for this—to have him over her, inside of her. To have him filling her completely._

_Ever since they were young and at court—_

The picture of a rakish man with pale blond hair and a mercurial silver gaze smirked at her.

He reminded her so much of Draco.

_‘Draco—’_

Hermione’s brow furrowed and the brimming energy inside of her sputtered long enough to allow a moment of clarity.

Her hands that’d been seeking his heat suddenly found themselves tangled in long lengths of coarse hairs. Confused as to what’d happened, she pushed at his chest once more, breaking their kiss and slicing her lip on something pointed and sharp on the way.

“Ow! Malfoy, what the blazes—” Hermione’s hissed curse tapered off and she forgot all about the sting and taste of copper coming from her lip when she set eyes on the blanket of russet fur covering Draco’s torso.

She recoiled from him with a shocked gasp and the noise seemed to tug some of his sensibilities back into place as well.

Disturbed and disrupted from the intent to mount his female, Draco allowed her to pull away again. He wanted to question her but once he’d reopened his eyes and focused on her, the jaw-dropped, dumbfounded expression on her face bid him to follow her gaze for himself.

Doing so was as effective as being doused with a bucket of cold water.

With a choked noise, he pulled all the way back, ripping himself away from her and turning his back as though it might save her from witnessing the rest of what was to come.

“Get out of here!” he snarled, his voice deepening in pitch before them both.

Hermione’s head pounded and that buzzing was flaring back to life and ringing her ears the further he was from her. She shut her eyes and tried to shake it out but only managed to make herself dizzy.

She rolled drunkenly to her side and made to sit up. Wobbling and holding her head as she came off the table top, she peeked at Draco through splayed fingers and fuzzing vision. Hermione caught sight of his looming figure and it was broader than she recalled but unmistakably his. He was moving quickly, disappearing through the doorway and down the hall. For reasons she didn’t understand, anger took root in her alongside the ever-present buzzing.

“What do you mean, _‘get out?’”_ Hermione snarled and tore after him, legs shaky and arms half-flailing as she used them to balance and propel her steps.

There was something sticky on the inside of her thigh that made her both shiver and grit her teeth as the distance between them increased. 

Following his swiftly retreating form, her body swung heavily from one side of the corridors to the other as she closed on the path he took from one hall to the next. She vaguely recalled this as leading to the main room with the hearth and floo and, with that a suffocating panic spread through her body.

 _‘You can’t leave me.’_

Her footsteps fell faster, one after the other and she knew he was still there—she was almost there.

The ancient portrait of that pale, silver-eyed man flashed in her mind again.

Hermione finally reached the sitting room and saw Draco’s form struggling with something to one side of the fireplace. She sneered.

“Who do you think you are?” Her tone was vicious and desperate all at once. It felt foreign in her own mouth. These words weren't hers. “You can’t leave me there—you can’t just tell me to go! Turn around and _face me,_ damn you!”

She was only a few feet away when she reached out to grab his shoulder but the second her touch landed, an enraged roar ripped through the room and Draco whirled on her.

One massive paw latched around her throat, slamming her into the nearest wall and knocking the breath from her lungs. Blinking through the stars blinding her vision, when Hermione was able to focus again, she set her sights on a what she now barely recognized as Draco Malfoy’s partially transformed snarling visage.

His dark lips were pulled back over razor sharp teeth, the lengths of which rivaled the size of her little finger. Normally pointed features had broadened and deepened in shade and the same fur that she’d spotted on his chest now partly covered his skin there, too.

Hermione’s eyes darted across his features, taking in the changes as they occurred and trying to make sense of it all. She could hear the sickening noise of popping and crunching bone as his face stretched and dangerous horns broke through the skin at his temples, curving out like a great beastly crown for his great beastly head.

"M-Mal—foy—" she managed to choke out past his hold on her throat. "Let me g-go—"

At the strangled command, Draco dropped her, allowing her to collapse into a coughing pile at his feet. 

He took several harried steps away before rounding on her again, his transformation now complete. Towering over her, he stood no less than a head and a half taller than she had she still been on her feet and was fully on display as the very same beast problem he’d contracted her to solve.

Draco’s growl vibrated in his chest and the fur on the massive humped spine of his back rose and spiked.

"I told you to **_LEAVE!”_**

Hermione could barely recognize his voice now and made to respond but only managed another set of coughs. 

Swallowing and rubbing her neck, she finally spoke, _"You're_ the beast?"

It was the wrong thing to say.

Another threatening rumble rolled through his muscled body and he was there again in a flash. This time he was nose to nose with her and on all fours with gleaming silver eyes piercing her like daggers. 

"Brilliant—now we see why our professors praised your immense intelligence, Granger. You always did have a knack for stating the obvious."

It took her a moment to register the words. 

Watching that fierce looking muzzle full of pearly white fangs somehow form the words and snark—it took a second to get over. Although, when she did, Hermione's shock turned into a glare and she set her jaw, ready to retaliate when the strange buzz of energy swept across her skin once more. This one was much more insistent than it had been all night and she shuddered.

Draco took the movement as an insult, reinforcing his earlier sentiment with a nicer wording though it was still laced with venom that came easily from a jaw full of razors.

"I'd. Like. You. To. **Leave."**

Hermione’s eyes had fluttered shut with the wave of energy that ran through her. When she opened them again, the snarling warning of the beast before her looked less like a threat and more like an invitation.

 _“Malfoy,”_ she breathed on a shaky exhale and lunged forward to catch his lips in a repeat of their earlier exchange. It was a clumsy attempt, what with his new…adornments, but she was nothing if not eager to find a way to make it work.

When their lips met, Draco froze, more in shock than anything at her hungry touch while he was in this form.

It wasn’t until she’d thrown her arms around his muscled neck, shoved him onto his haunches and she pushed forward onto her knees that his brain kicked in again and realized what had occurred. Once it did, it promptly shut off and redirected the blood flow to his groin.

In an instant, he ripped free of her kiss and shoved her onto her hands and knees, making short work of repositioning them until his larger body caged her in and his rock hard shaft nestled between her arsecheeks.

Hermione’s torrid moan fell from her throat and she ground her hips back against him, flipping her hair off the bruised shoulder that held his bite and offering it up to him like a platter.

Her scent reached his nose again and now, as the beast, there was nothing to filter the musky odor into anything other than what it was—her sex was primed for the taking and it belonged to him. 

Draco’s eyes rolled back at the smell of her. His body crowded her without his permission, even as he fought the savage, maddening urges to rip her skirt off and fuck her into blissful oblivion. 

_Mate._

_His mate._

_The female was his._

_Pleasure._

_Please._

**_Protect._ **

The single word broke through Draco’s cursed haze and it was with no small amount of willpower that his clawed hands clamped down on the writhing hips that were quickly driving him insane. She mewled at him in response and his resolve nearly broke then and there.

Tamping down on the sliver of his sane, human mind remaining beyond the sensations of her scorching core leaking for him and coating his cock through what was left of his tattered clothing, Draco hefted her into his arms with his claws beneath her thighs and stood.

He heard her gasp and another series of tantalizing noises encouraging him to bury himself in her _just-like-this_ spurred him on to do anything but.

Disappointed in this turn of events, Hermione reached up and snagged one of his horns, dragging his muzzle to her where she then resumed her emphatic attempts at snogging him over her shoulder.

 _‘Just need to make it to the fireplace.’_ The weak mantra repeated over and over in Draco’s head, attempting to drown out the other that was simply screaming, _‘Fuck your bitch. NOW!’_

He stumbled towards the fireplace, getting ever closer with every grunt and groan and kiss from the ripe little witch writhing in his arms.

Merlin help him, he wasn’t going to make it.

“Gran—ger—” Her name was a barely recognizable growl between the heated tugs of her lips. “Have to—get out of here—"

She shook her head violently, growing frustrated when he refused to meet her kisses anymore and instead drew his muzzle down to the crook of her neck and shoulder. 

Draco licked a hot stripe over her bruise with his roughened tongue and sank his teeth into the flesh before he could stop himself.

Hermione’s small, wriggling body went taut, her head falling back to his furry shoulder and her mouth dropping open in a cry as her hips pumped in short, jerky movements that could only have meant one thing—

The smell of her sex filled his nose.

In that moment—Draco Malfoy's final moment of clarity for the evening—he thought that if there was a being of fate or judgment that truly existed in their world, he should be absolved of all sins for his and a million other lifetimes in light of the next decision he made.

Wrenching his face free from her sweet flesh, possessiveness welling in his chest as the mark he’d left on her was already blooming to life on her skin, Draco tore one meaty paw from her to dip into the tray of floo powder on the mantel and toss it into the hearth.

“The Ministry of Magic!” he roared as clearly as he could through a mouthful of fangs and, when the fire changed from orange to green, Draco dropped her in.  
  


**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_**  
**Tuesday, January 23, 2001 – 7:00PM**  
**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--**  
  


The sudden crash and yelp of a certain Hermione Granger caused the lone janitor that had been peacefully sweeping the Atrium floor to stop and stare.

Hermione's eyes darted about, taking in her new surroundings as the heavy fog from earlier lifted away again and the realization of what all just happened dawned on her. Each mounting tier of horrified embarrassment took up new residence on her face. 

A soft but pronounced clearing of a throat startled her out of the mental recounting of events that just occurred and she finally noticed the wizard with the large push broom eying her suspiciously.

Hermione turned bright red and scrambled to right her clothing, nearly crying out in pain when she moved her bruised and bleeding shoulder. Hastily she combed her hair over the wound and shot the man a defiant look.

"What then?” she rasped, throat a bit raw. “You've not got work to do?" 

It took her a handful of tries to clamber to her feet, tripping over her own shoes as she did. Upright at last, she tugged her skirt back into place and dusted herself off, failing to stifle the shiver that ran through her at the feel of her own slick sliding between her thighs.

"Go on then!” Hermione squeaked. “Nothing to see here!"

The janitor watched her stomp loudly to the other set of fireplaces across from her entry point and heard her shout a location before disappearing once more.

With a snort and shake of his head, the man went back to his sweeping—it certainly wasn’t the strangest thing he’d ever seen working night shift.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooow. <_<
> 
> Man that suuuuuuucks. >_>
> 
> Cursed to want to have crazy wild sex with a big burly beast.
> 
> ( •_•)
> 
> ( •_•)>⌐■-■ 
> 
> (⌐■_■)


	9. The Morning After

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Wednesday, January 24, 2001 – 10:30AM – Sick Day** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
Wednesday. It was a pleasant enough day. Hump day—half of the week done, half more to go.

The sun filtered in through the blinds of Hermione's window, brightening her modest bedroom with soft light. Little particles of dust floated carelessly through the sunbeams and created a serene sense of calm in the room. Despite the sunlight, the draft of winter permeated the walls of her flat but she found herself uncaring of it, what with her body being completely encased in her bedsheets, two fleece blankets, and her huge fluffy comforter. Not to mention her head being hidden under no less than five big fat pillows.

Hermione had done her best to bury her mortification in linens and down. It hadn’t worked, but at least it kept the chill out.

After returning home from the catastrophe that was the prior evening, Hermione prepared a note and promptly owled in sick for the coming day.

She couldn’t go back there. She wouldn’t. Not after that debacle.

Hermione spent most of the evening after she stumbled back to her flat in the throes of panic and embarrassment.

She’d ripped off all her clothing, sodden with sweat and other things and set the entire outfit out to burn it later. In her attempt to scrub her skin free of Draco’s phantom touches she’d stayed under the spray of water until it ran frigid. The image of her coming out of the shower had been pitiful, a drowned rat with her hair plastered to her body and her skin a colorful bouquet of bruises.

Her left shoulder, the one that’d housed his bite, had been every color but that of her normal shade of skin and housed a U-shaped imprint of teeth at the center of it all. In addition, welts had puckered to life wherever his claws had pawed and groped. Her thighs, her sides, her arse—they all had angry pink lines mapping out each and every one of the curves he’d found so enticing in the midst of their lust-drunk haze.

She’d done her best to get some sleep after that; to maybe find that the morning held a better plan for her than hiding from this very new and very _strange_ problem. She’d found little solace in sleep, however. 

It seemed that her mind hadn’t been pleased at where they’d left events that night. So displeased was it, that it saw fit to conjure the vivid memory of her on hands and knees with his big, burly body behind her. Only this time, Draco had the presence of mind to take care of her as he was meant to. 

In her miscreant dream, he’d speared her from behind, the thickness of his scorching cock dizzying. Each of his thrusts nudged something in her that sent fire sparking from her ears to her toes. During their coupling, he’d grown so impossibly large sheathed inside her, his shaft swelling at the base and massaging a sweet, sweet spot that left her panting and crying out noises that had her sounding more bestial than he until they’d become locked together and every minute movement he made was pure stimulation of ecstasy. His cock head knocked insistently at her womb, his hips slamming to her in rough, coarse movements that matched the grunts and growls that sent the fine hairs on her skin prickling and her right mind scattering to the wind. 

In her fantasy, he’d taken her like an animal and she’d been bloody _delighted._

From beneath her pile of covers and pillows, Hermione groaned at the memory.

She’d woken up from that nocturnal encounter somewhere around the part where he’d sunk his teeth into her shoulder and his spend coated her insides with an all too-clear recollection of every detail. It didn’t help matters that when she moved, his very _real_ bite made her shoulder ache and shot arcs of pleasure straight to her core. Every tiny tingle of pleasure begged her to touch herself for relief—at least until he could take her. It would prime her—make it easier for him to do what they both needed.

Hermione resolutely did _not._

This resolve led to her laying in bed far longer than she’d meant to, moving not even an inch lest that resolve crumble.

Groaning again, she supposed it was finally time for her to face the day and she forced herself up. The fluffy mass of her hiding place shifted as she struggled to sit up, body stiff and the pain in her shoulder worse now than when she’d woken up earlier. She didn’t have to see it to know it looked worse, too. She didn’t have time to pander to it, though—not any longer. She’d done that long enough and had wasted much of her morning. 

Hermione needed to get up and get to researching because, although she had absolutely zero intention of coming into contact with Malfoy at the moment, she needed to know what the hell had happened to her. His curse had become her curse somehow. She found no other explanation for the sudden, savage, animalistic want for the wanker in such a scarce timeframe. There had been a strange energy—some sort of magic for certain—that’d taken hold of her in his presence, particularly when they touched. It hadn’t felt like a spell someone had cast on her but one that resonated from within…something that pulled at her own magic and had driven her batty.

_‘Batty for his cock.’_

Hermione crinkled her nose at the thought.

Whatever it was, she wanted it gone, posthaste.

And without having to face the source of distraction, she might actually be able to focus on solving his case. The prospect of research lightened her mood.

From what information she knew thus far, Malfoy needed to be wedded prior to his twenty-first birthday to dispel the curse of turning into that beast every night. So was the purpose of it to cause misery to the Malfoy heirs? If so, why would his curse have an effect woven into it which attracted a nearby female—especially while in that form? Wouldn’t that be contrary to the purpose?

Hermione remembered very clearly—much to her dismay—the fervent need she’d felt for him. It was more than physical, it was an ache that stretched far beyond normal desire. She’d not only needed the feel of his flesh against hers, she wanted his mark, his claim. She had been prepared to give him everything and anything he’d desired as beast or man as long as he’d be _hers._

Her fingers drifted to her shoulder in an unconscious motion and the moment they brushed over his bite, she shuddered and the muscles in her thighs twitched.

She needed to get to work on her research…but first, a cold shower.  
  


**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**   
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-..-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**   
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**   
  


In the library, surrounded by stacks of journals, Draco swiped a hand over his face and the darkening bags forming under his eyes. With a groan, he let his head thud against the surface of the table he occupied. 

Last night was _awful._

She'd caused the change in him early again and from the snippets he'd managed to put together from further research in the old journals it was due to his elevated emotions and... hormones. 

Apparently, the Four Fs of survival were a large factor in triggering the transformation sooner rather than later. With their history so far, Draco could easily surmise that there would be many more events where he would or would want to engage in at least three of those four with Hermione Granger. 

To say he was quite relieved to receive the letter from The Ministry that his caseworker had owled in sick for the day would be an understatement. He didn't really think he could face that bushy haired witch again. Not yet anyway. Not when, with as obnoxious as she was, he still wanted to ravage her in every single room of his home and stake his claim.

Draco’s mouth dried a bit at that train thought and he forced himself down a different one.

If he were being honest, he didn’t find her as obnoxious of a know-it-all as she used to be, anyway. Was she still a know-it-all? Absolutely. But that aggravating trait of hers seemed to pale in comparison to the real trials he’d been through since their years in school. A lot had changed for him in the years since he’d last seen her. Hell, a lot seemed to have changed for her, too. 

At the very least, she wasn’t trying to kill him, so it made her immediately more tolerable.

“Except for when she wears those bloody skirts…” he mumbled, thinking about how, for such a short witch, her legs really went on forever.

He let out another groan and _thunked_ his head on the table once more.

Determining to get his head back in the game, he sat back up and scanned the stacks of journals again with a grimace. He’d found out about his emotions affecting the timing of his change but he’d yet to find out anything which could explain _her_ behavior.

As much as he’d like to take credit for merely being just that irresistible, Draco knew her well enough in passing to know she wasn’t normally so…forward with her attentions. Not _that_ much had changed in the past few years. Not enough to have her walk into her old schoolmate’s home, drop her breasts into his hands, and writhe on his clothed dick, anyway.

An only somewhat beast-like growl trickled past his teeth at the thought of burying into her heat. He cleared his throat and shook his head to derail it. 

It was time to get back to work.  
  


_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Wednesday, January 24, 2001 – 2:30PM – Sick Day** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.—** _   
  


Hermione lay sprawled on her living room floor, several stacks of old ratty looking parchment and tomes strewn about her in a semi-circle. 

She was comfortable on her belly, her legs bent up toward the ceiling and idly kicking back and forth while her eyes scanned the text in front of her following along the path her finger traced across the old ink. She sighed for the billionth time already and shut the book in front of her, rolling to her back to stare at the ceiling with an ink pen tiredly balancing on the shelf of her pursed lips.

None of these texts had been particularly helpful as of yet and she was already a good halfway through them. 

The only positive lead she'd garnered so far was discerning that the curse afflicting Malfoy had to be tied to very old blood magic. There were no cursed items he'd encountered, no witch or wizard blatantly casting at him to his face, and with what evasive information he'd already provided her their first day together—as well as now knowing the truth that he was the beast—it was the only thing that made any sense. The problem with this lead was that it raised more questions as to why she was affected in the way she was while in such close proximity to him.

Hermione couldn't figure why the Malfoy men would be cursed with this kind of fate all resting on taking vows by their twenty-first year in the first place unless it was some silly case of a spurned lover. 

She chortled at the thought.

It wouldn't be hard pressed at all to believe that one of the Malfoys pissed off the wrong witch at the wrong time and ended up paying for it—no, that seemed just about right. 

The revelation didn't make her feel much better though seeing as it still didn't explain anything for _her._

If Draco was affected due to a curse on his bloodline as a punishment, she shouldn't have been drawn to him at all. She should have been terrified, appalled even, at the monster he’d become. 

Hermione coughed away some errant thoughts as she recalled a very different response to him entirely.

No, there were still too many questions unanswered and too much information and history missing. Though Kingsley had been very accommodating with her owl to him requesting to send her what references he had on curses and historical records of magic use before they became regulated affairs, she knew she wouldn’t be able to get the answers she needed from the Ministry. 

She needed into that library at the Manor. If she was going to find anything, it would be there.

Hermione was interrupted from her thoughts and pen balancing act by a forceful _tap-tap-tapping_ on her living room window. She turned to see a large fluttering shadow outlined by the mid-afternoon sun on the other side of her curtains. Rolling back to her feet, groaning a bit at the stiffness still in her neck and shoulder, she drew aside the cloth to see the owner of the shadow to be a somehow snooty looking eagle owl with a large leather satchel in its talons. Making quick work of opening the window to let the bird in, it wasted no time with dropping the bag onto her sofa and perching on an arm of the couch, looking to her expectantly for its compensation.

When she took too long staring at it in puzzlement, it made a shrill and irritated noise, flapping about and readjusting its perch on her cushions. Its tail flitted back and forth as though it were plotting something inherently nasty that involved its rear end and her newly reupholstered furniture.

"No! No no no! Stop that! Hold on, just one moment! My goodness...pushy little thing, aren't you?"

Hermione disappeared for a moment more before returning with a handful of treats to give to the nasty creature. It inhaled them in a somewhat satisfied manner and excused itself just as quickly as it'd come. Hermione rushed to the window to watch it retreat back to its sender, unable to discern who the owner was this way but watching it fly away just the same. 

Shaking her head, Hermione slid the window back into place and took a look at the delivery she'd just received, equal parts suspiciously wary and eagerly curious.

The satchel was leather as she'd already noticed before, impeccable leather no less. It was worn minimally and rustically at the edges and the curve of flap that hid its contents from the elements. The smell of the leather was strong but soothing and reminded her of the tomes in Malfoy’s library. 

At that thought, she hurried to open it, carefully extracting the contents from within and hefting several ancient looking journals in hand. The stack of them was topped with a neatly folded letter that indeed had the Malfoy family’s familiar emerald seal adorning its front. Flopping onto the couch cushions, she set the journals to the side and popped open the seal to read the elegantly penned note:

**_Granger,_ **

**_If I know you, and I do, you're not sick. I wasn't going to show you these but since it seems to be otherwise ridiculous to keep them from you now, here are some of the journals I've yet to comb through. Do you read French?_ **

She rolled her eyes – of course she did.

**_Rhetorical question, of course you do._ **

**_In any case, I don't know what exactly happened last night, but I know you're going to be avoiding me now and as much as I loathe to admit it, it may be best that we keep face to face correspondence to a minimum. I'll owl Kingsley to let him know you're still on the case but not needed at the Manor right now. There are plenty more of these journals to go through and I could use the extra set of eyes. I'll send Corvus with more in a couple of days._ **

**_If you find anything of note, let me know. I can open access to the floo for you but considering how you almost ravaged me, I'd like to leave that alone until we have some kind of real breakthrough._ **

**_You're off the list, remember?_ **

Hermione scoffed.

Ravaged him! She would never!…despite the fact she almost had.

**_Speaking of, in the meantime I think you should go through with your original idea as a backup plan. If we can't figure another way to break this curse, I will need to arrange a marriage before June. I still have the files here that I want to look through and I will send you the final cut so you can do whatever it is you need to do to arrange these abysmal dates. Remember that they will need to be during the daylight hours and keep my Sundays free._ **

**_\- DM_ **

**_P.S. - Next time you're over, do us both a favor and wear something ugly._ **

She didn’t know it was possible for someone to be just as insufferable via post as they were in person, but there it was in black and white.

Hermione shook her head, grumbling and folded the letter back up. Padding her way into her kitchen, she put the kettle on.

At the prospect of making some actual headway on her Malfoy problem, she opted to focus on that excitement and not the curious tinge of disappointment lingering in the fringes of her mind around the knowledge that she wouldn’t be seeing him again for several days.

It must be the remnants of whatever energy had taken hold of her still making her batty and mussing with her head.

The sooner she got to reading those journals the sooner they would both be out of each other's hair.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \o/


	10. The Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot, I guess. D:

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Friday, January 26, 2001 – 3:00PM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
_Tap! Tap tap tap tap tap! TAP TAP TAP!_

"Coming! I'm coming! Merlin, will you calm down you blasted bird!" 

Hermione picked herself up off her spot on her living room floor dancing around all the files and journals stacked about to hustle to the window before Draco's owl had a conniption. Quickly flipping the latch on the large pane, Hermione slid open the window for the bird to find his way inside.

Corvus flew in with another satchel full of journals. It was the fourth set in the past three days. Dropping the bag offhandedly onto her couch, he glided back to the bowl of treats she'd moved by the window in an effort to deter his miscreant ideas of how to redecorate her furniture while he waited for her to fetch them otherwise.

"You're just as irritating as your owner sometimes, you know that?"

She reached out to brush the backs of her fingers across his feathered head softly and he let loose a series of quiet hoots but allowed her the contact anyway. They seemed to have come to an understanding. For now.

Indulging in the attention for just a few moments longer, Corvus abruptly decided he was over the attention and nipped Hermione's hand lightly, just enough for her to pull back with a startled yelp. And then he was off, out into the afternoon sky once more.

Hermione shot the retreating bird a particularly nasty look as she sucked the pinched finger between her lips to soothe it. 

"Bloody damnable bird," she mumbled.

Shuffling back to her seat on the floor, she tugged the new satchel into her lap and emptied its contents onto the carpet in front of her.

Hermione was faced with at least a dozen or so more thin and tattered leather bound pages, all in French. Each had small labels affixed to each of their covers with a sticking charm and every tiny white label listed a range of years. Some of them had a name or two written on them as well in Malfoy's immaculate cursive. 

Sorting through the new round of information, Hermione placed them amongst the appropriate stacks already spread out around her and retrieved and retrieved a pad of paper and a pen. She eyed each one thoughtfully while formulating a game plan about how best to get through them all.

Since the first set of journals had arrived days ago, Hermione had been eager to peruse their pages and begin her extensive note taking process. With that initial stack, she’d established a process that she and Draco had been adhering to which ended up making things go much quicker.

Apparently, the act of diary keeping hadn’t changed all that much through the ages. As it was, the authors of these journals often had very clear identification at the beginning of each entry which made placing their age much easier than having to scour his or other family trees in order to date the authors and, subsequently, the entries. 

Hermione had taken to jotting down any names that she found repeating themselves throughout the pages onto sticky notes and on one of Corvus' return trips she’d sent a request to Draco that he prep the items before sending if he could. At the very least, if he could date them, that would allow her to make even quicker work of the texts.

She was surprised at how well he followed instructions when he wasn’t being an arse.

Along with the journal delivery from the day before, Draco had also sent her his pick of single witches that he gave the go ahead to schedule dates with. Hermione looked through each and every one that day, sighs of distaste escaping her left and right when she read through the notes attached to their basic statistics. 

All of them were brunettes—he had her return all the files for the others—and they were all also perfectly Pureblooded. Not a Half-blood in the bunch. It almost made her ill. Strange cursed behavior aside, he seemed a bit more...tolerant of her presence than before during their schoolyard days. She'd hoped that he was making real strides away from his prejudice.

Between the work he was doing with the Malfoy name to try and sever the negative connotations of it going forward and his cordial attitude when they weren't trying to crawl into each other’s laps, she thought he was making progress. To see nothing but the Pureblood picks come back to her was a disappointment that she couldn't really explain, not to mention that they all seemed to have rather large knockers from the photos that were available. 

The pervasive memory of how she’d idiotically thrust her chest upon him to call his bluff and prove a point, thereby ruining the precarious business arrangement in place dominated her thoughts. 

Hermione huffed and tried very hard to chase it off.

It mostly worked.

She tried once again to focus on her task at hand. 

Using a list of information that Draco had already discovered from the journals he’d gone through, as well as some from his own experience, Hermione compiled them all into a more comprehensive battery of information:

**_\- Origin over 100 years old at least, may be much older, date is inconclusive, still working through journals._ **

**_\- Curse effects altered/controlled progressively with potion mixtures during conception and pregnancy (Wolfsbane primarily). Changes once occurred the year of the Malfoy heir's 21st birthday and were permanent until wedded but with the introduction of potions during the pregnancy the changes became more closely regulated to moon cycles._ **

**_\- Texts appear to indicate that the curse was cast by a former suitor of a Malfoy heir but no clear identification to which ancestor yet or the name of the witch._ **

**_\- Only known way to prevent transformation from continuing is for the heir to take his vows before the sunset of his 21st birthday and consummate the marriage. Evidence suggests that if vows are broken, the curse would manifest itself more forcefully than before as is the supposed tale of the original curse-bearer._ **

**_\- The curse appears to be designed to worsen over time up to the heir's birthday. As days move forward, symptoms of the transformation will carry over to the daytime: appetite, mental capacity/brain functions, physical manifestations all will become distinctly more feral. Similar signs are seen in some lycanthropes._ **

**_\- The changes seem to happen of their own accord by the late evening after the sunset but can be triggered early by elevated stress levels. No transformation found on record yet that has occurred during any daylight hours however._ **   
  


Hermione had scoured several of the journals sent to her so far and hadn't been able to find much of anything to add to Draco's discoveries—much to her disappointment. 

The only real additions were a smattering of names she garnered from the worn pages. Mostly these were mentions of anyone blatantly recurring in the authors’ entries. She was surprised at the detail of records kept by the Malfoy family, although she did find that the older the journal the less detailed the entries tended to be. 

It seemed as the years progressed the Malfoys tried to make more of a concerted effort to keep better information in hopes of finally ridding the black spot from their bloodline. A disturbing thing also trending within each of the journals of the Malfoy heirs past was the decline of the writing and coherency of the author as they recalled the effects of their curse. In some cases, it seemed that marriage arrangements were made very close to these heir’s respective birthdays as a kind of experiment to see if anything else was working to break the curse.

Hermione shuddered at the idea of being subjected to such an experiment.

To have all the knowledge and literacy she prided herself on every waking moment of every day disintegrating before her very eyes—

She shuddered again.

Hermione couldn't stand the thought of it, especially with the potential Draco had.

His insufferable qualities aside, Draco Malfoy was actually quite brilliant. She’d known that well before Voldemort set up shop in Malfoy Manor. The fact that she and Draco fought not only verbally at every point possible in their younger years, but academically as well was enough to caution her to keep an eye on him. His ambition and drive had always been chomping at her heels before the stirrings of the war. If they’d been under any sort of normal circumstances when it came time to leave school, she honestly wasn’t sure who would’ve graduated at the top.

Then again, a lot of things would have been different if not for the war.

Hermione sighed.

They’d lost much because of that madman. Some of it during his reign and a surprising amount after it as well. 

When she got to thinking about it, she found herself feeling sorry for Draco and his fate on all accounts. As she'd stated in her testimony for his freedom, she knew he was just a child to his parents' decisions. Left to his own devices, he would have excelled in everything that he put his mind to largely because that's just how he was and, prejudiced or not, he could accomplish great things. 

Draco truly had the drive in him to do great things.

_‘Draco.’_ An unsettling fondness lingered in her breast when she thought of him then.

Hermione grimaced.

They needed to resolve this quickly. She was none too happy with the amount of time spent with her thoughts drifting back to him. Ever since their kiss she couldn't get him out of her head. 

Everything she knew about him always seemed so unrelenting and rigid. 

His angular features, stark hair, and glinting grey eyes had struck her as very cold or terse; never once would she have imagined that any part of him could be so heated, so delicious, so...so...

_“So_ time for tea!" 

Hermione leaped to her feet and in her haste forgot the leather bag still in her lap. Scrambling to catch it, she managed to clutch it by the bottom. When she did, a small book fell from the innards of the pack onto the floor with a dense thud, right onto the top of one of her bare feet. 

Letting out her second startled yelp for the day, Hermione flopped back onto the couch behind her, rubbing her sore foot and setting her best side-eye at the offending object. After working the sting out of her injured foot, she took a good look at what it was that caused it in the first place.

Plucking the book from the floor, she immediately noted the heft of it—deceptively heavy for such a tiny thing. She flipped the diary over in her hand, admiring the texture of the soft faded leather under the pads of her fingers. The cover was extremely well worn, veins of white peeked through what was once probably a richly colored shade of red, now mostly faded into a dull and uninteresting tan. Variegated splotches of remaining color peppered the surface making it difficult to define the embossed imagery all along the front, back, and sides of the book. 

Hermione ran her fingers across the decorative ridges and valleys, squinting to make out the pictures and found the front cover image to be a simple embossed rose housed in the center of what was once probably a family crest. An equally simple and floral themed border was stamped onto the four sides of both the front and back cover as well creating an especially feminine set of markings.

The spine possessed very pronounced ridges that hinted out very meticulously sewn bindings. The leather there had worn thin from age and storage. Opening the cover, Hermione took stock of the state of the parchment. There she found that the gilded pages were surprisingly clean and free of the normal signs of mold and spotting she was accustomed to seeing such old texts. 

A quick scan of the contents showed signs of frequently turned pages with proper and pretty looking swirls and loops adorning the majority of them with minimal smudging of ink between the words. All of it was filled to the brim with written text save for a sizable chunk near the back that was blank and a stark shade of off-white where the writing abruptly just stopped.

Shutting the diary again she examined the corners of the cover, finding them still quite pointy and intact and not blunted or rubbed smooth; not at all what she expected from something that seemed so old. 

An image of a young woman carefully opening this very same journal in an almost reverent fashion floated into the back of her mind.

Hermione didn’t seem to notice the unbidden image as she turned the diary over and over in her hands, familiarizing herself with it as though she’d touched and seen and smelled this piece of history before.

_‘The smell…’_

That was perhaps the oddest thing so far about the little journal. Hermione had been around books her entire life and knew ones like this to have a certain aged scent to them. There was almost always the scent of old leather, dusty and musty with a hint of dried paper. This one, though…it smelled like roses. The scent itself was extremely subtle and there definitely was still the odor of old parchment that she adored so much, but she was sure that odd and slightly enticing fragrance interwoven with it was the scent of roses.

Chancing a look around her flat as though someone were due to pop out from nowhere at any given moment and snatch the thing away, Hermione brought the journal to her nose and drew in a slow, deep, breath. 

The aroma moved subtly through her senses. Dancing first across her nose, then her tongue, the scent triggered all sorts of pleasant memories associated with the sweet smell of rose bushes.

Then a sudden, startling shock shot through her.

With a gasp, Hermione recoiled and dropped the book. 

Her heart rate sped as a dull hum buzzed to life in her ears, growing louder with each passing second. 

Shrill bursts of noise crackled randomly in her ears, raising in pitch until they blended together completely, pulling a pained shriek from her throat. 

Clamping her hands over her ears to will away the deafening noise, she shut her eyes only to see flashes of foreign scenes bursting into life behind her eyelids.

_...dancing..._

_...laughter..._

_…snow..._

_A beautiful woman in a blush colored gown._

_Chestnut curls pulled atop her head in an elegant hairdo, exposing a long line of neck and a teasing curve of breast._

_Amber eyes flecked with gold—angry golden eyes—_

_Wine—red...a magnificent garden dusted in white._

_Floating candles lighting the courtyard—_

_A handsome man with sleek, pale blond hair pulled back into a low anchored ponytail—_

_Intense silver eyes—hungry—attentive—lustful—_

_Red—a red dress. The curve of painted red lips parted in passion, lording over a man with pale blond hair—_

_Angry... **angry** golden eyes—_

Ripped from the images forced upon her, Hermione lurched backwards, overshooting the couch cushions and knocking her head against the wall in the process. The bump to her noggin seemed to further jerk her from her shocked state and she looked around frantically, hand clutched to her chest to try and calm the excited pattering of her heart against her breastbone.

Gulping in huge breaths, she shook her head, unsure of what she’d just seen.

A fine tremble seated itself into her small frame. 

She swallowed and drew in a deep breath.

Hermione was relieved to find the images seemed to have stopped, although her dilated pupils and hammering pulse still acted as though she were there, witnessing the happenings first hand—experiencing the emotions first hand.

Her heart ached, not in real physical pain, but with a hurt that was deeper and impossible to soothe away. 

Hermione knew this feeling. She’d felt it when the reality that, after all the hardships and war, after having only the best of intentions in the choices she’d made, that she killed her own parents with the very love she was trying to protect them with. 

The ache, it was a pining of something impossible to have. 

It was a yearning for a love that would never again be attainable. 

It was one that came with all the anger and rage created by the fact that there was absolutely nothing you could do to fix that fact. 

Hermione’s earth-shattering loss of her parents rattled her down to her bones. Now, reliving that same sort of ache emanating from something within this journal, brought it all back to the surface. 

It was a void that couldn't begin to be filled with all the magic in the world and she felt the sorrow melt into her gut with the cold, harsh truth laid out before her. 

Hermione shuddered out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding while staring at the little journal laying innocently once again at her feet. 

_**‘This.** This may be the lead we need to even begin making progress on the curse.’_

Wearily, Hermione reached for it, the pads of her fingertips ghosting over the spine. Just like before, she felt a jolt of energy like a static shock. It made her hesitate before she swallowed down her nerves and plucked up the courage to close her hand back around it to retrieve it from its spot on the floor. 

Hermione felt and heard that dull buzzing again, but this time it faded away after a few seconds. Eying the book with a tired and baleful look, Hermione's right mind tried to speak up then, saying something about flooing to Malfoy's to let him know she may very well have a breakthrough in his case. 

She should tell him. 

She shouldn't be alone to look at this.

It could be dangerous—

_‘You don’t need help until you know what this is.’_

The thought was insistent. Very, _very_ insistent.

She could wait on telling him.

The book was safe enough for now. 

She should just look at it first by herself.

It’ll be fine.

_You’ll be fine._

“It won’t do to get him worked up over nothing,” Hermione mumbled to herself, hands smoothing over the embossed rose on the book’s cover. “I’ll just make sure this is important…then I’ll tell him.”

With trance-like movements, Hermione settled herself into a comfortable position on the couch. Curling her legs underneath her and flipping open the diary, she began to read the courtly French script belonging to a witch named Bellerose LeClair.


	11. The Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Narcissa~~~

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Sunday, January 28, 2001 – 10:00AM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
White. Sterile. Quiet. It was always so very quiet.

Draco sat just as quietly bent forward in his seat with his elbows resting on his knees. He turned a bouquet of lilies repeatedly in his hands. Clad in his always preferred charcoal-colored attire, he was the only dark spot in the hospital waiting room.

He sighed impatiently, the sound so loud in the otherwise silent area that it caught the receptionist’s attention. Draco locked gazes with the witch, daring her to say something; her eyes narrowed as though she were simply waiting for him to do something so she could kick him out. Then, just as quickly as it’d started, it was over.

Shaking his head, Draco leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and took to idly stroking the petals of the flowers he’d brought with him. The buds were silky and white with a delicate splash of violet that crawled up the center of each one. They would add some nice color to her room.

Lilies were his mother’s favorite. She kept a magnificent garden at the Manor…or at least she used to before…before everything. These were some of her most prized flowers from the small selection that he’d managed to keep alive in her absence.

He never would’ve picked his mother as liking anything as colorful as even these but she’d told him once that they held a simple elegance she was quite fond of. They were simple, and beautiful, and just striking enough to draw the eye without detracting from their natural grace. Narcissa talked on and on about them—flowers, that is—and he’d never really given it much thought before.

Now they seemed to remind him of someone who also had a penchant for drawing the eye. Someone that fit all those descriptors with the added complexity of depth beyond that delicate first impression.

Draco huffed and smothered those thoughts. He didn’t want to think about it—about _her._ This was his mother’s time. 

He stared hard at the bouquet, thinking of the days after his father was sentenced to life in Azkaban. Narcissa had been alright at first, more in shock at the reality of the situation than anything, but she did well enough. She’d insisted that they go see his father every week, every Sunday, when they would allow them a very brief visit. He would exchange brief, often terse words with his father then hang back to allow his parents to have their moment together before they were wrangled away.

Draco was always in wonder at the way Narcissa’s features lit up when she saw his father. The way her eyes softened, shoulders relaxed, the way she smiled a smile that actually reached her eyes as she leaned towards the man on the other side of cold iron bars. Perhaps more astonishing was the way Lucius responded. His ice cold eyes would melt at seeing her, _he_ would melt. She was the only person that could reach him like that anymore.

It was the same thing every week. 

Though he held no love for his father these days, the way his mother brightened had been enough for him to remain tolerant. Time stretched on and Lucius remained in Azkaban. And, although the Dementors were gone, the prison was still a terrible, bleak place that could drive one mad. The walls were still saturated with centuries of blood and tears that couldn’t simply be washed away and forgotten. Sadness was built into the stone.

When Lucius began to lose himself, so, too, did his mother. 

Watching her, his bastion of strength and the main reason he came out of the war alive, fall apart, he had no idea what to do.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco's head snapped up, jolted from his daydreaming by an older witch standing at the entrance of the hall, clipboard in hand.

“Yes,” he said.

"Mrs. Malfoy will see you now. Sorry about the wait, she wanted to clean up a bit before she would accept any company."

He just nodded, pushing to his feet and sweeping past the Healer down the hall to his mother's room.

  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**   
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-..-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**   
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**

  
Narcissa floated about her modestly sized room, fluffing the new bouquet of flowers Draco brought her and setting it next to the others from the previous visits that she was still nursing along. Her pale hair was piled atop her head, freshly washed and dried and she sported a fluffy robe over her simple cotton gown. She looked more comfortable than

Draco was ever used to seeing her look at the Manor.

"Thank you again for the flowers, Draco." Narcissa took her son's hands loosely in her own and gave him a fond peck on the cheek which he mirrored out of habit.

"Of course, mother. Anything I can do to help brighten the room for you."

"Sweet boy, your visits are all I require. you know that. Come now, sit and tell me about what you've been up to this past week!"

She led him to a round table set in the corner of the room and they each took a seat by the tea set all set out and ready for pouring as it was every Sunday.

Draco recounted the happenings of his week to her, talking mostly of how he was taking a break from managing the Malfoy investments at the moment to work on another project. 

Narcissa listened attentively, interjecting at all the appropriate times with the proper things to say and inquiring further when it was expected. To an outsider, one would think the exchange very impersonal but Draco had grown used to the meanings within his mother's mannerisms from before he had to have her admitted to St. Mungo's.

When they talked like this she seemed alright. In fact, he was often tempted to request her release and take her home.

Sadly, he knew better. 

Narcissa _was_ fine during the day when she could occupy herself with things like redecorating or tending to her makeshift garden—anything that would keep her mind busy and her hands occupied. The worry came for her at night, when the darkness reminded her of the walls of Azkaban and of how Lucius looked withering away in his cell. 

When Lucius had finally reached the point where he was no longer fit to receive visitors, Narcissa hadn’t been sure what to do with herself. In the darkness of the night, her mind wandered then and it continues to wander now. Fixated on their happier times, before the war and the complication of it all, is how she begins to fall apart. Even if Draco hadn’t been receiving the updates from the medical staff around her episodes, he knew it happened—knew it _would_ happen as sure as he grew fangs and claws every night.

Before he’d brought her in, she’d just complained of sleeping poorly and waking often from the disruption of years of sharing her bed only to have Lucius gone from it. Narcissa carried on, however, mentioning it offhandedly here and there but otherwise keeping the fact that she was now barely sleeping at all to herself. The morning he’d found her collapsed outside on a particularly nasty Autumn day was the day he’d realized she’d needed help the likes of which he was unable to give.

The memory of her frail figure sprawled among the bushes of her garden was something he’d never cleanse from his mind.

The Healers that took care of her after that informed him she’d developed a mild case of hypothermia from being out so long. It was dealt with easily enough for them but her other symptoms soon became more prominent. 

Narcissa had lost so much weight over the weeks since she’d began her nightly walks. She wouldn’t eat—couldn’t—not without becoming ill, so she’d just stopped. The Healers declared her so dreadfully malnourished after they treated her for her other sickness, he’d been beside himself with guilt.

Looking at her in the hospital bed back then, he'd then finally noticed how pale she’d grown and how deep the shadows beneath her eyes stretched.

How could he not have seen it? 

Even with how busy he was with working on digging the Malfoy name out of the publicity nightmare it’d become, he should have seen. She was the only family he had left. 

What good was he if he couldn't even take care of her?

"Draco?"

He blinked, finding a curious and concerned set of blue eyes staring at him.

"Darling, are you alright?"

Draco blew out a soft breath and nodded, placing one of his hands over hers and giving it a little squeeze. 

"Fine, mother. I apologize, I was distracted. What were you saying?"

Narcissa ignored his attempt to shirk her concern. 

"Draco," a hint of that stern motherly tone colored her words. "Come, tell me what’s the matter."

"It's nothing. I just…" He sighed heavily watching the path of his thumbs as they traced the peaks and valleys of her too-thin knuckles. "I wish you could come home."

Narcissa’s face softened at the helplessness in his voice and flipped her hands palms up so she could still the nervous movements of her son's hands in favor of holding them instead.

"Precious boy, I know you do. And you should know that I'm not upset with you for following the Healer's instructions. It’s safer this way, I understand that you’re very busy—"

"No! Mother, I am never too busy to care for you. I should never have been so oblivious. Merlin’s sake, I should take you out of this ridiculous place today! I can look after you instead of some group of-of _strangers_ flitting about you day and night!" 

_'Night... Damn it all!'_

How could he forget about the curse already?

Narcissa tugged on his hands to draw his attention back to her once more.

_"Draco._ What has you so rattled?"

"Rattled? I’ve no idea what you’re—"

"Son, do you think me blind?" She sounded offended now. "I've spent your entire life caring for you: rocking you to sleep in my arms when you were but a babe, spoiling you rotten with anything Galleons could buy. I know when you’re troubled and I _know_ when you are lying to me. So, I ask you again: what is it that is bothering you?"

Draco reluctantly met her eyes, searching them for traces of anger but finding only concern. He relented at last though not quite sure how one would correctly broach the subject. 

"Are you…aware there is a curse on our bloodline?"

Narcissa's brows furrowed apparently not expecting to hear those words at all. She tilted her head to one side a bit like a bird.

"Curse? What curse?"

He could see the confusion clearly on his mother's face and it seemed genuine. Draco supposed that since the curse was on the Malfoy line she may know absolutely nothing about it, but he also thought that highly unlikely. He allowed her another confused moment before prompting her again in an attempt to jog her memory before he would allow himself to launch into any other emotions that were quickly building in his gut at the idea that his last familial link to the problem may actually NOT be able to help him at all.

"A nasty one, mother. Old and full of malice. I first was subjected to it at the start of the New Year."

"New Year...I don't know of any... _oh!_ Oh, Draco, no!” She gasped, her hands jerking from his grip to clasp over her mouth in shock. Narcissa’s wide blue eyes flicked over his features in a frantic movement. Draco realized she was searching for something—evidence of the malady that she did, in fact, know about.

She knew.

He knew he shouldn’t be mad.

They’d all been very preoccupied these past few several years with a startling set of events that, once started, never seemed to end. It all was very effective at creating a distraction. Draco understood that, all things considered, he shouldn’t be upset that such an important thing was glossed over in the excitement of the war.

He _shouldn’t_ be but, by Merlin, he was.

Draco’s jaw ticked and he reminded himself to control his tone. His mother was sick. She was frail. He should be _calm._

"I see that you are familiar with it, then. How, nice of you to inform me,” his words came out like a whip.

Narcissa looked to him, pleading with her eyes. She reached back out to cup his face in her hands but stopped when he stiffened at her impending touch. 

"Oh Draco, I'm sorry. _I'm so sorry._ W-we—Lucius and I, we were making arrangements for you so that you would never have to deal with this, never even have to know! I-I—my boy, I’m so—" Narcissa stammered and babbled her apologies at the full realization of what her only child was now being forced to suffer through. Her eyes were growing glossy and her bottom lip began to quiver. She was about to cry.

_‘What a useless son—making your own mother cry!’_

Draco shook his head and drew her trembling hands to cup his cheeks as she’d been about to do before he’d scared her off. Squeezing gently, he shushed her with a softened tone.

“It’s alright, Mother. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s not your fault— _shh, shhh.”_

Narcissa’s chin wobbled and she lunged forward, circling her arms around her son’s neck. 

“Draco, I’m so sorry!”

Draco embraced her, rubbing soothing circles between her shoulders before speaking softly into her hair.

“It’s alright. I’m not upset. Please calm down.” Rocking her gently he sighed. “I didn’t want to speak with you about it since you were still feeling unwell. I’ve been researching…looking for any information I could find in our library.”

Narcissa’s thin body trembled but her tears seemed to subside somewhat. Draco heard her swallow, as if steeling herself, before she nodded and pulled back from him far enough to look into his eyes.

"We have to find you a wife, and soon," she stated resolutely.

"I've been researching," he said again, fighting the grimace at the idea of suffering through an arranged marriage if he didn’t have to. "I'm trying to find another way to lift this blasted thing _for good.”_

“But, Draco, the Malfoy family has been trying to find a cure for decades, centuries even, and have continued to be unsuccessful! They've tried potions, magic, foreign rituals—there is no cure to be found."

"I'm getting help with it." 

He wasn't entirely sure why he added that tidbit. 

Maybe it was the way she spoke with such conviction. Or perhaps, beyond the distaste of an arranged marriage, it was the simple desire of wanting a proper family without the price of any future sons being subjected to such a fate as this. Whatever it was, it was important enough to need to make her understand that he wasn't planning on doing this the ‘traditional’ Malfoy way.

"Help?” she asked with incredulous, narrowed eyes. "Who on earth did you entrust this secret to?"

Draco swallowed and suddenly felt like a boy worthy of a reprimand beneath that look.

"Hermione Granger,” he said carefully.

"Granger… _Granger…"_ Narcissa tasted the name on her tongue multiple times, mentally searching for the face to match the name. When she did, her eyebrows shot up. "Potter's _Mudblood?"_

He opted for a tight-lipped nod instead of a verbal response. 

Hearing his mother use that particular phrase always made him a uncomfortable. It’d always been like hearing her curse. Now, especially after his current…association with Granger, it sounded especially vulgar.

"Draco, do you understand what this could do to you? What _she_ could do to you now? If she were to expose you—"

Draco moved his grip to her arms, finding them as painfully thin as the rest of her.

“Mother! It’s fine. _Trust_ me. Granger wouldn’t dare breathe a word of this to anyone.”

"How can you be so sure?” Narcissa asked, unconvinced.

Draco mulled over what exactly he wanted to tell her.

The Ministry would likely find the overt willingness of their best magical beast specialist to fornicate with the monsters very concerning.

A grimace twisted his features at that sort of blackmail but he wrangled it into a devilish sneer for his mother’s sake.

"Let's just say that, if she does, all I have to do is say the word and her career is over."

That sly sneer did such a remarkable job of reassuring her that Narcissa never even seemed to notice it didn't reach his eyes at all. 

Narcissa cupped her son's cheeks fondly.

"Sometimes you remind me so much of your father."


	12. The Wronged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's like a soap opera. :O

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _  
_**Wednesday, January 31, 2001 – 5:00AM** _  
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
_"Darling! Darling? Where are you? It's time for the toast! Sweetheart?"_

_The pale, slim woman adjusted the fur-lined cloak more tightly about her shoulders and peeked her head around the well-manicured and snow-dusted shrubberies lining the pathway to a small gazebo._

_“Darling? The guests are waiting, we really mustn’t dawdle."_

_"Ohh, just like that—"_

_She scrunched her face at the moan coming from the direction of the enclosed shelter just down the way._

_Haven't people heard of silencing charms? And at her engagement party, no less. Honestly, what nerve!_

_About to call out, her words caught on her tongue when it came again, louder this time._

_"OHHHHH, my lord! You feel so goo—d!"_

_'My lord?'_

_She heard a low, masculine growl and a resounding slap followed by the same woman's sudden squeak—a squeak that didn't seem all that pained._

_"Quiet yourself! Someone is bound to hear you!"_

_THAT voice she recognized._

_The flurry of emotions that swept through her in that instant were impossible to process gracefully._

_Shock._

_Dread._

_Hurt._

**_RAGE._ **

_The last was the most prominent of them all._

_It’s what propelled her satin-clad feet across the cobblestones so she could burst into the grounds maintenance shed where she discovered her fiancé being straddled rather crudely by one of the young guests from their party._

_The woman had to have been about her age if not only a hair younger. Her skin was as pale as her own and superbly unblemished save for a budding red handprint on one of her shapely and **exposed** arse cheeks. Where her own hair was a spiral mass of rich brown curls, this girl's was a pale blond to rival her future husband's and barely hanging onto the decorative clip that once held it so prettily atop her head. _

_She could only see the back of the girl’s slim figure but quickly took in her **complete** nudity. The way her hips were aligned over her fiancé's and the sensual way they rolled against him, she had no question in her mind as to exactly what was going on._

_Only now seeming to notice the new addition to the room, the man sat straighter in his ruddy armless chair propped in the corner of the storage shed._

_Despite the golden flame kindling her eyes, he flashed her a wicked smile over the other woman's shoulder._

_"Hello darling.”_

_To her credit the girl tried to clamber off him after she realized they'd been caught. Only his firm grip kept her there and insisted on the continued movements of her hips—clearly intent on finishing before they dealt with his fianceé._

_"Wh-what…is THIS?!"_

_She felt the heat building in her chest, worming its way up her neck, into her cheeks and coloring every inch of skin it touched in a livid shade of red._

_"Just a bit of clearing the pipes before the speech, love, nothing to be worried about."_

_She turned her head sharply when the girl finally wrenched herself free of her fiancé's hold. The sound of scuttling was lost on her until the young girl cowered before her, clothed once again in a red dress the color of wine, looking notably disheveled._

_"I-I'm sorry my lady, I didn-"_

_SLAP_

_"Get. Out. Of. My. **Sight,”** she snarled, the sound a deadly, menacing rumble._

_Without another word the blond girl swept past her and out of the shed. She turned back to her betrothed then, pushing the hurt clenching at her heart down and away, resisting its pull into the sadness that wanted to claim her heart._

_"What is the meaning of this? Calling off the engagement then?"_

_The man scoffed. He had at least enough decency to locate and don his trousers again._

_"Merlin, no,” he said, reaching for her. “Come, Belle, we'll be late to the real party."_

_Belle jerked away from his hand, appalled anger and absolute horror evident on her face._

_"Do not TOUCH me!” she shrieked. “Are you mad?! You cannot mean to just ignore being sunken into a-a cheap slag at OUR celebration and expect me to merely go along with it! I want to know what this is all about and I want you to tell me now, or so help me, Merlin, I'll—” She found her tirade cut short by the sudden clamping of a hand at her jaw, coaxing her against the nearest solid surface with a bruising hold._

_His glinting silver eyes stared straight into her own._

_"You'll what? You'll hex me?" He snorted. "Come off your high horse, Belle. We both understand this marriage to be profitable for our families and we have duties to uphold. You get to carry the Malfoy name onwards and all the good fortune that comes with it, and we will get to extend our interests back to Bordeaux. I have heard your family's manor there is quite gorgeous in the summer."_

_Belle's bottom lip began a fine tremble hearing him refer to their upcoming marriage as nothing more than a tactical business arrangement._

_She was sure they had been in love._

_He'd always been so charming, so alluring…_

_What happened to change this?_

_"B-but I love you."_

_This seemed to surprise him. He took in her expression and saw the open anguish shining in her amber eyes and, when he did, frowned._

_"Love. This was never about love. Love belongs in childish faerie tales and women's knitting circles. This was always about business. I need an heir and your family needs our money."_

_Her fiancé leaned in close, nuzzling against Belle's soft cheek in a cruel mockery of affection._

_"If it makes you feel any better, of all my prospects, I chose you. Besides your family's assets, you really are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. Truly befitting of your name, if not a bit too prudish for my tastes. We will produce a most dashing son together, darling, and I do so want to keep the line going strong. Remember, love, a Malfoy always gets what a Malfoy wants. Now gather yourself and we shall meet at the Manor for that toast."_

_He punctuated his words with a kiss that made her stomach churn knowing where those lips were only moments before._

_Belle allowed him to excuse himself back to their party. Her head was spinning from her world being turned on its head in a mere manner of minutes. The feelings within her were conflicted._

_She’d loved him, she truly did. Even after this betrayal, she impossibly still felt for him. She couldn’t deny, however, the anger growing within._

_He was right. Her family did need his. She knew that from the beginning, but she was certain that they had created something more between them—she was positive._

_His harsh, mocking words swirled around and around in her ears._

_Belle had never been good with her temper. She’d always been quite the hot-headed witch when it came to blows. It seemed that this was more than enough to draw tip her precariously maintained control._

_Withdrawing her wand from a pocket of her furred cloak, she allowed her thumb to rove over the intricate carvings of the vine wood to ground herself. Her lips curled away from her teeth in a feral sneer and the heat of her fury seeped into her limbs, leeching out into the air around her._

_Belle’s magic rolled off her in waves._

_It crackled and manifested as arcing tendrils of lightning that licked at the nearby trees and bushes, melting all the surrounding snow as her feet began moving down the path to the Manor._

_With each, determined step, the sound of her delicate slippers echoed on the stone._

_The haze of rage filled her vision, affording her only one clear thought that she knew to be true:_

_A Malfoy will always **get** what a Malfoy **deserves.**_

**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-..-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**

  
Hermione snapped upright from her dream as the waves of sorrow and the harrowing pang of rejection tugged at her chest. She immediately lost her balance and slid unceremoniously off her couch.

_“Gah!”_

Her head whipped about in the dimly lit room trying to remember what happened and where she was, eventually able to identify the familiar surroundings of her flat.

Rubbing at her eyes, Hermione made to pick herself up off the floor and went about untangling herself from the thin fleece blanket coiled around her legs. A soft _thud_ came after she was finally on her feet again and she glanced around, trying to locate the source of the noise. Her brow furrowed when she spotted the dark outline of the diary she’d fallen asleep reading again the night before. Retrieving it, Hermione moved her sticky note from the front cover to roughly around the spot she remembered reading last and collapsed back onto the cushions.

She stretched and her joints let out a loud series of pops. Hermione sighed. She’d not meant to fall asleep on her sofa, not again. Craning her head to check the mantel clock, she groaned when she realized it was nearly six in the morning and she only had another half hour before she’d need to be up for work.

Ever since she opened the journal some five nights ago, she’d been having the strangest dreams. But, try as she might, she could never remember all the details after she woke up; she was lucky if she could recall the barest of snippets.

That said, Hermione still had an inkling that this diary would be key in solving Draco’s family curse. She knew it and was determined to find out how. Her progress was, unfortunately, a bit slow going. The text was in French, which she knew, but it was a very old, decidedly less modern version of the language that made translating it a headache. All in all, however, it was coming along.

While the other journals she’d investigated were strictly recollections—almost university-level dissertations—this piece of writing was most certainly a young witch’s diary. More importantly, it was that of one who had to be very close to the curse.

The diary’s pages had been dated sparingly at first, but further in, as the writing matured some, the author began to record them at the beginning of each entry. The first dated entry was at least a dozen or so pages in and was for 14 February 1739.

Hermione followed the events in the book with rapt attention.

There was a great deal of romantic yearning within the pages but, what intrigued her most of all was reading about this nameless woman's observations of the men of her time. There was one in particular who, from her descriptions, fit the traditional Malfoy characteristics perfectly. Hermione had a suspicion that the journal belonged to one of the early Malfoy’s wives, evidently before she knew anything about the curse on their bloodline.

It had to be the case. Why else would her diary have been filed away with all the other documents in their library? She had to have some relation to them.

If she was correct—and she was positive she was—then this could help them date the age of the curse. Once they had a better idea of its exact origins, they could scour the family history to try and discover the original pair who started the whole ordeal, thereby opening the way to figuring out a counter curse!

Hermione would’ve preened at the plan had it not been for one annoying and somewhat major setback: the diary was infuriatingly devoid of _names._

There were plenty of re-tellings about interactions on any given day: a witch who got under her skin, the young lord that noticed her attendance at their family's holiday ball, devious stories of wishful thinking about forbidden rendezvous with said lord… Oh, yes, there was quite a bit of that from what she had deciphered so far, but no names!

Hermione thought back to when she kept diaries in her younger years and, though she did so sparingly, she supposed she understood it. She never expected such an item to forever remain a secret, so if there was anything deviant she dared to put on paper, she would either use code for it or omit too many details together so if anyone were to happen upon it, they’d still be unable to make out her scribblings.

So far, the woman in the book has only referred to the young Malfoy in pet names: beau, sweetheart, darling and some other nonsense which made her roll her eyes. The last she’d deciphered was about her engagement and a honeymoon to one of her family's vineyards overlooking a major waterway in France—that entry was listed just after the turn of the new year.

Hermione skimmed through the several paragraphs about wedding plans and from what she could make out, there was still no mention of his name. It was around the height of her aggravation with the strangeness of it all, that she finally allowed herself a little break and subsequently nodded off on the couch.

_'So close, yet so far...'_

Hermione lamented to herself about how much of nowhere she had gotten so far with what was probably the most promising piece of text either of them have found yet.

Rubbing at her eyes again and scowling at the clock face above her fireplace, she decided it was time to get up. Or…it would be in five more minutes.

The lack of sleep was definitely starting to get to her and she knew she really should tell Malfoy about the diary.

She was supposed to meet with him at lunch tomorrow to go over the date she'd arranged for this afternoon. She’d bring the book and tell him then.

Yes. That seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea.

Hermione's lips twitched in a pronounced grimace thinking of the witch Draco was to meet with.

_‘What was her name again? Marina? What a ridiculous name. Who names their daughter that really? There were certainly much better names for a woman: Eliana, Rose, Lily...Hermione.’_

She huffed, a strange feeling roiling in her at the mental projections her overactive imagination was providing for the date. The two of them together having a grand old time, laughing…touching…kissing.

Stopping her thoughts there, Hermione let out a disgruntled noise and pulled her blanket back over her head.

She could sleep in…just a little.  


**__,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,__ **  
**_Wednesday, January 31, 2001 – 12:15PM_ **  
**_-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.—_ **  


Draco eyed his pocket watch again for at least the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes.

She was late.

His date was late.

Hermio— _Granger_ had told him to be there at noon to meet his date at this Italian place for lunch but, miraculously, she wasn’t here.

With a sneer, he slipped the watch back into his pocket and took a sip of water. He resolved to give her five more minutes and then he was leaving.

Sure enough, perfectly on cue, a beautiful buxom blond witch caught his eye. She smiled, waved, and made her way to his table.

The woman was a little taller than Granger, slender and appeared as though she'd never seen a day of work in her life. She strutted towards him with a suggestive sway of hips pinned in a tightly-fitted, long-sleeved navy blue dress with a borderline hideous and poorly matched stole adorning her shoulders.

Her skin was light, lips painted with a dramatic red, warring with the heavy pink color smearing the apples of her cheeks. As she approached, he could barely make out the dull grey of her eyes past the copious amount of kohl lining them.

_‘Well, then. This will be…something.’_

Draco arched a brow but rose from his seat anyway when she approached.

"Draco Malfoy." The woman smiled slyly at him, offering up one of her hands for him to take.

Draco eyed it but mechanically drew it to his lips to brush the backs of her knuckles with a kiss.

"Lady Marina Sokolov, I presume?" His eyes swept over the woman, taking in her presentation. "I didn't recognize you at first. You look…different from your photo."

"Oh that," Marina tutted and took the proffered seat he held out for her. She removed her stole from her shoulders and shoved it at him. "It's a recent change. Brown is such a drab color. I wanted to liven it up a bit! How does it go? 'Blonds have more fun' or what all. But then you should know that already, right?" She winked.

"Clearly,” he said flatly. Forcing a smile to his face, Draco draped the hideous stole over the back of her chair, allowing it to fall off his face as soon as her back was turned.

Between her being nearly twenty minutes late and this…whatever this sort of greeting was, Draco mentally ticked off two strikes against her in his head. He’d give her exactly _one_ more before he called this idiotic idea off. He retook his seat only to have her wide, cherry red smile waiting to greet him.

She had lipstick on her teeth.

"Draco," she began, leaning towards him with her elbows planted on the table, "What's this about?"

He bought himself a moment with another sip of water, unable to stop from staring at the way the tablecloth puckered beneath the points of her elbows. His lips pursed.

"Well…what did Granger tell you?"

Marina sat back again, clasping her hands in front of her now.

"My father was contacted by a missive from the Ministry requesting a meeting. From what he told me, he spoke with the witch and she'd said you were looking to arrange a marriage! I have to say, Malfoy, it's a little late in the game to be arranging nuptials for you—and through a Mudblood, no less. What's really going on?"  
Draco's eye twitched at the way she spoke about Granger. And in public, to boot.

Hermione Granger was a decorated war heroine, not to mention she was certified _brilliant._ Even the seediest of haunts had to be careful about addressing her like that aloud. As it was, Rita Skeeter—the last reporter that had tried to sully her name after the war trials—went missing for a time before coming back miraculously reformed. He wasn’t sure what—or more likely, _who_ —happened to the reporter, but he did know from personal experience that bad-mouthing Granger never ended well.

Draco offered Marina another cold smile.

"That’s it—that’s the story. With my parents being unavailable for the task at hand and myself also being quite busy with the family interests, I've enlisted the assistance of the most accomplished employee they had to help provide a more modern spin to this whole arranged marriage business."

Marina snorted at that, one hand going to stifle the noise and the other reaching across the table to rest lightly over one of his own.

 _"Most accomplished employee!_ You're hilarious! It must've been a busy Wednesday morning when you sent the request in to end up with her, eh?”

Draco twitched again.

 _‘Strike three.’_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnnnnn!


	13. The Braggart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lunch date!
> 
> And also: Cormac. ¬_¬

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Thursday, February 1, 2001 – 11:45AM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
Draco entered the cafe in a Muggle part of town for his lunch appointment with Hermione. 

He was dressed in the most casual suit he could get away with out in public knowing The Daily Prophet's photographers were lurking around all corners—even the non-magical kind. He’d managed to avoid them for the better part of the prior day’s horrible lunch adventure with them having missed most of the afternoon's festivities. He very much wanted to keep that going, especially today.

To say he was nervous was being kind.

At some point, he knew he had to see Hermione again if he were to keep her on as his caseworker, but he’d not realized the level of anxiety lying in wait to show itself for the actual day. He was about to tug his watch from his pocket to check when he would be due to expect her when a blur of motion a few booths down caught his eye. 

There she sat, already waiting with two glasses of water on the tabletop, one of them halfway drained. She beckoned him over and he obeyed.

The first thing he noticed as he neared her was that she looked exhausted and he could see the beginnings of dark smudges forming under her eyes. Her hair, seldom tame on a good day, was piled haphazardly atop her head straddling the look of ‘stylish mess’ and ‘conspiracy theorist.’ 

His eyes trailed down over the long line of her neck, pausing to admire the delicate floral pendant hanging from a thin chain there. He vaguely remembered nearly getting the thing stuck between his teeth when he’d bit into her just over a week ago.

At the memory, his gaze darted to her shoulder as though might glimpse his handiwork through her blouse. He wondered how it was healing…if it still had color to it…if it’d scarred.

Draco wanted to apologize for it…except he didn’t. 

In truth, he’d actually just been pondering the logistics of bending her over the cafe table and marking her again. Higher this time, so the evidence of it couldn’t be so easily hidden beneath a collar.

His cock stirred and he swallowed down that errant line of thought, making a beeline for the table before the tenting in his slacks became noticeable.

_'Fucking keep it together, mate.'_

Hermione watched his swift approach, still amazed he'd so easily agreed to meet her at the Muggle cafe down the road from her flat. 

She was sure asking him there would be like trying to get a cat to swim but he hardly seemed bothered by the arrangement at all. 

_‘Curious.’_

Hermione offered him a cordial and welcoming smile. If she allowed her eyes to wander over his suit and appreciate how well his clothing always seemed to fit him, he at least didn’t seem to notice. He always managed to look so put together.

It made her recall how much she was… _not._ At least not at the moment. She’d been having trouble catching more than a few hours each night since she’d opened the diary and she knew it was reflected in her appearance. Thankfully, she remembered to bring the book with her. They could talk about these odd side effects and could also go over what could very well be their shining light in a sea of darkness when it came to solving this case. 

Hermione would show him the diary today.

…after she finished thinking about the way his shirt and jacket hugged so tightly to the lean planes of muscle beneath.

Hermione felt a budding heat building low in her belly, slipping down between her thighs. She became distracted, mind hazy. She was certain she’d been going to talk to Draco about something about his case but, for the life of her, she couldn’t recall what it was.

_‘Must not have been important.’_

"Morning, Malfoy,” she greeted him as he sat across from her.

Draco flashed her a smirk that he hoped masked what sorts of thoughts he’d been having moments before. He tried to focus on the business at hand. It was difficult. The little French restaurant she’d invited him to must have dealt in pastries as well because there was a persistent honey-sweet scent that kept teasing his nose.

"Morning. Why so early, Granger? Did you miss me?"

_‘Yes.’_ Hermione’s traitorous, unbidden thought made her choke.

She coughed and took a long pull from her water glass to avoid his questioning stare.

“Clearly,” she bit out with all the sarcasm she could muster. “That's obviously why I've been so merrily avoiding you for the past week: I missed your shining disposition.”

_‘There, familiar territory.’_

"Anyway, I hope it wasn't too difficult for you to find this place,” Hermione said.

Draco peered at her over his laminated menu.

"With your impeccable step-by-step...by-step-by-step-by-step directions, how could I get lost?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Well, pardon me, but I didn't want you to get turned around. It's not as though you could just whip out your wand and wave it about to get yourself going again!"

Someone cleared their throat at their sides, drawing both of their attentions.

Hermione blinked up to see their waiter looking at her with a barely controlled grin on his face. She blushed, realizing then how that must’ve sounded to the Muggle man. The print on her menu suddenly became very interesting.

Draco blinked between Hermione and the crisply dressed waiter to his left, clueless as to what just transpired. 

_‘Must be a Muggle thing.’_

The man introduced himself to the two as Benjamin and presented a well-worn pad of paper and a pen.

“Ready to order?”

Both nodded and when a handful of seconds of silence stretched between them, Draco kicked her with his foot.  
Hermione hissed and glared at him, her attention shifting from the perusal of desserts to Draco’s expectant face.

"What?" she snapped.

He rolled his eyes and chin nodded at their waiter.

“Your order?”

Hermione blinked, mouth finally falling open when she realized he was waiting for her. It was an observation of propriety that tended to be absent among the other male dining company she entertained.

"O-oh! I'm sorry." She laughed apologetically, cheeks burning. Hermione placed her order with the young man, blushing prettily when he made a good-humored joke about her dazed state.

Draco watched that particular exchange with narrowed eyes. 

An unpleasant feeling welled in his chest as he observed her giggling with the help. It began to manifest itself as a growl until a dainty foot smacked into his shin.

Draco straightened, caught Hermione scowling at him and took his turn at ordering his own meal. After Benjamin left, she hissed at him again.

"What's wrong with you _now?”_ she asked.

"Nothing," he snapped.

"Really? Because you look as though you've just smelled a rotten egg." She snorted at the look he shot her then and shook her head. "Down to business, then. How was the date with that Marinda woman?"

_"Marina,"_ he corrected. "And it was bloody awful."

Hermione seemed surprised.

On paper the witch looked like she would've fit at least a handful of his preferred traits. Hermione had gone through Marina’s academic testing scores and, though not at the top of her class, she was no slouch. Her lineage was immaculate by Pureblood's standards and her family was decently well off. The woman’s father had even spoken to Hermione about some kind of foreign trade business in an exorbitant amount of detail but she only paid attention long enough to get him out of her office.

"I don't understand, she looked like a decent enough candidate for you."

"For what _you_ think I'm looking for."

"What?” Hermione’s nose crinkled. “What are you talking about? You gave me a list and I stuck to it. I didn't make any kinds of assumptions." 

"Like hell you didn't!"

"Malfoy!" she shushed him, glancing around to see if anyone had been disturbed by his little outburst. "Keep your voice down! I just picked from your stack of rich little princesses and narrowed it down like you said to do according to that ridiculous list you gave me. What, was her tit size insufficient?"

_"Shh!"_ It was his turn to chastise her volume. "And that's exactly what I'm talking about!" He jabbed an accusatory finger in her direction.

"What? What have I done incorrectly for you now?"

They found each other nearly nose to nose over the table, their row just at the edge of escalating to an inappropriate noise level for a public setting when the sound of a throat clearing came at their sides once again.

The pair looked up to see Benjamin having returned with their lunch orders in hand, that same patient customer service smile plastered to his face.

It made Draco scowl even harder than before.

Placing Hermione's plate first then Draco's, then Benjamin straightened again. 

"Everything look good? Did you need anything else at the moment?"

Hermione glanced to her companion then her plate and finally back to the man. She offered him a too-tight smile and tried to make it look good.

"Looks great, thank you, Benjamin."

Draco noticed how the man brightened when Hermione addressed him. His lips drew back in a snarl, not taking is attention off the witch in front of him.

"Yes, _Benjamin,_ everything looks excellent."

At his tone, Hermione turned back to face Draco only to find him glaring at her. Sensing the building tension between the two, Benjamin promptly excused himself, practically fleeing the couple's presence for them to work out whatever it was needed working out.

When the coast was clear, Hermione glowered.

"What the _hell_ is your problem?"

"Not a thing,” he huffed. “Now if you could stop making moon eyes at our server we can continue our conversation."

She scoffed in return.

"Jealous, Malfoy?” She didn’t give him the chance to answer. “If I recall, we weren't having a conversation, we were having an _argument_ about your lists."

_"Wrong._ It was a row about all the inferences you're making about _‘my lists.’”_

"Inferences? What inferences?! You laid out all your preferences quite clearly—right down to their knockers!" 

The volume from their heated exchange was beginning to draw a few glances their way.

"Then why was my first date campaigning for 'snottiest bint of the wizarding world?’ I'm fairly certain I didn't include **that** on my list of ‘pros.’"

"Well, I'm sorry if I can't tell from a stack of papers if they're 'snotty' or not. You would think you'd be used to that kind of behavior with your upbringing anyway—”

"There! That’s exactly what I’m talking about!" Draco growled, sticking a finger in her face. "Look, I may have been a pillock in school, but in case you haven't noticed, I've been working very hard to make some changes in my associations. If someone like you can't get past _your_ prejudices about _me,_ then what good is any of it going to do?!"

"Wh-what? I don't have prejudices against you!" Hermione protested, utterly appalled by his suggestion.

"Oh, really? Then why did you automatically think I'd have trouble with you picking a Muggle restaurant to meet at?"

"That wasn't prejudice! That was just—”

"Presumptuous?" he offered.

_"Courteous preventative measures,"_ she corrected.

"Right. And the reason you picked the wealthiest witch from the stack for a first date was _'courteous preventative measures'_ for all those Galleons that I don't give a damn about acquiring?"

"I-I just thought-"

"You just _thought_ that all Purebloods think and act the same way and are devoid of any kinds of sensible human emotions. I would've thought you had more sense than that considering how that very same line of thinking has affected you!"

Hermione was completely taken aback. 

She immediately wanted to retort with another reason that he was absolutely wrong.

Except he wasn't. At all.

It was true that she had preconceived and mostly negative notions about the families she knew were at least once practitioners of the Pureblood ways with the Malfoys being the most prevalent in her mind. 

Hermione pegged herself as an open-minded witch, what with her tendency towards supporting so many important activist groups that she never once considered the truth Draco Malfoy was now throwing in her face. She’d been content to leave her idea of devout Pureblood families in the neat mental box she had for them, full of cruelty, snobbery, and entitlement. So steeped in their traditions, she never once thought about the likelihood that any of them could change.

But then there was Draco.

He’d changed—or at least he was trying to. As much as she would like to claim otherwise, he was. She’d seen him working towards it and knew it wasn’t an easy thing by any means.

How could it be when just as many people like her were out there, content to keep him and the ideas of him with his antiquated views in that neat little box that made it easier to throw him away?

Hermione searched for words but only ended up being able to stammer out a lame apology. 

"I... y-you're right Malfoy. I apologize. I never really looked at it that way before. I suppose it's been a little difficult for me to think past..." Her words faltered and her hand traveled to her left forearm where she scratched at the scar scrawled into the skin. "Well, anyway...it doesn't matter now. I'm sorry."

Draco watched her fidgeting with the brand he knew lurked beneath her shirt sleeve. He had one much like it. Both were hideous reminders of a war that still lingered too close to the surface of memory.

"It's fine,” he said. "Just do me a favor and look at the next ones differently."

"You still want me to arrange more dates?" She didn't bother hiding her surprise.

Draco shrugged.

"Might as well for right now. I haven't made a lot of progress finding another way and I'd like to try at least marrying a witch I won't throttle within moments of taking my vows if I have to do any of this rubbish at all."

"Alright. I’ll pull the information on the others you gave me and see if I can eliminate any other candidates with what I have access to." 

Hermione paused, hesitant to put forward the idea that was wriggling around in her head for a while now. She didn’t need any more exposure to him than necessary, not until the knew more about the curse, but…

"Did you...did you want to look them over with me?"

"With you? I thought you told me the additional files weren't public access when I asked about it the other day."

"Well...they're not."

Draco studied her, trying to measure exactly what she was playing at when it dawned on him.

"Granger…are you offering to break the rules?"

She straightened in her seat immediately, tilting her nose up with a huff.

"It's not breaking, it's bending,” she said. "The files aren't public access but you've enlisted Ministry assistance and I'm accessing them as your caseworker. Since their contents directly affects aspects of the case I have been assigned to— _i.e. yours_ —and to come to a resolution of this particular situation the input about this information from the client— _i.e. you_ —would expedite the process considerably. 

“This would then thereby release the Ministry worker— _me_ —from further contractual obligations to this case and, as such, free said worker to take on additional cases and prevent bottle-necking the Ministry's workload within the department. Therefore, it's _perfectly_ acceptable for you to review the other files with me. See? _Bending."_

Was it possible to get a hard-on from clever? Draco wasn’t sure, but he was leaning toward _‘yes.’_

"I think I'm rubbing off on you, Granger,” he said with a lopsided grin.

"Ugh, please don't say _that._ We were just starting to get along." Hermione failed to hide the amusement from her voice.

"Hag." He smirked.

"Prat." She grinned.

"Tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow is good."

Business settled, they finished the rest of their lunch more pleasantly than either would have thought possible.

The banter was good, the food was good, the service was good. All things considered, it was a rather delightful lunch after all.

Hermione found herself feeling the best she had in days.

With only a minor row over settling the tab—one which Draco ended by resolutely refusing to allow her to pay, brandishing a wad of Muggle money that he, apparently, knew how to navigate—they parted ways.

Emerging from the apparation point to a spot just around the corner of her apartment building, she returned to her flat. Hermione gathered her belongings and the files she’d left out in the living room, making her way to the Ministry to finish her day. It wasn’t until she was seated once again at her desk that she realized she’d never discussed the diary with him.

So distracted by their conversation it somehow had just…slipped her mind.

_'Ah well...I'll see him tomorrow...'_

  
_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Thursday, February 1, 2001 – 6:00PM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

_Knock knock!_

Hermione looked up from her work perusing Malfoy's pros and cons list to her office door, then to her small desk clock.

_‘Who else is here this late…’_

"Come in."

Her face fell when she saw who was on the other side. 

A very tall, very fit, athletic, and unfortunately, very familiar man entered her office with a confident smile on his haughty face. He didn’t look that much different from their days at school: pasty skin, dusty close-cropped hair that curled despite itself, snotty little grin turning the corner of his mouth up at the side. 

"McLaggen,” Hermione said. “What a surprise. What on _earth_ are you doing here past quitting time?"

"Granger,” Cormac purred. “I’ve a delivery for you! Last one of the day." He brightened and waggled a thick sealed envelope at her, slamming the door behind him.

"Deliveries? I thought you were working with the Aurors..." 

_'On the other side of the building...'_

"Oh, I am! I'm just helping out with some things in records for a few weeks and this request came across. I figured I hadn't spoken with you in quite some time and thought I'd make it an excuse to stop in so you could enjoy my charming smile." He grinned.

He was serious.

Hermione's stomach turned but she offered him a tight smile anyway.

"Yes, it's been a while." 

That while was very much on purpose on her part considering the last time he tried to speak with her was after she broke it off with Ron and he was insistent that a night on the town with no strings attached would be a soothing remedy for what ailed her. Hermione had since rebuffed each and every other one of his attempts to get in her knickers, yet he still kept showing up. 

A thick one, that one.

Cormac strutted up to her desk, envelope tucked under one arm, and perched himself on its edge facing her. He plucked one of the dainty candies from the dish on her desk and made open and inappropriate eye contact, eating the chocolate in a manner Hermione could only guess he assumed was sensual.   
It made her want to throw up in her mouth.

"Your files, milady." He waggled his eyebrows at her, speaking around a full mouth and chuckled as he handed over the envelope.

"Thank you..." 

Hermione kept her smile plastered to her face as long as she could muster and examined the bulky parcel he handed her. The word _'CONFIDENTIAL'_ was stamped across the front and the fold of the envelope still had the unbroken Ministry wax seals. Her heart leapt into her throat, fearing he might’ve been the one to pull the files, but when she checked the sign-offs on the back, Cormac’s initials were blissfully absent.  
Hermione let out a huge sigh of relief.

"So, Hermione, who're you taking to the ball?"

Startled out of her examination of the envelope, she shot him a puzzled look.

"What ball?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes and playfully nudged her arm, turning his attention from fiddling with the knick-knacks she kept on her desk back to her.

"The Valentine's ball. You know, the one The Ministry has _every_ year? Come now, pet, you haven't forgotten about it already, have you?"

The muscles in Hermione’s jaw twitched at the endearment.

She did forget. On purpose.

"Yes. That. I'm not going,” she said flatly. “Far too much work to do."

"Oh, pish tosh.” Cormac scoffed. “I'm sure you're leaps and bounds ahead of wherever you need to be on whatever case it is you're working on. What is it this time, by the way? Unicorn negotiations? Satyr housing? _Pixie politics?"_ He chortled and plucked a whole handful of candies this time, flashing her his best toothy smile.

"Yes, sure, all of the above," she said.

Hermione followed everything he did with her eyes, watching all the little things she had adorning the top of her desk being plucked at and moved from their proper places with an ever-growing desire to toss the wanker out of her office. 

"So, you see, much too much work to do."

_"Hermione,"_ he said her name with an unwelcome familiarity. "It's just a day—not even a day, an _evening!_ Certainly, you can take one _evening_ off to enjoy yourself.

They're even letting us all out of here early so we can go home, change, and party well into the night!"

"’Fraid not,” Hermione replied without missing a beat. “Simply can't spare the time. Also, it's in the middle of the week which is an idiotic time to schedule a party anyway."

Cormac pushed off from her desk and made to idly wander about her office instead, touching everything with his candy-coated fingers and completely missing Hermione's horrified expression. She mentally created an inventory of all her possessions that would need to be scourgified.

"Too bad, it's mandatory. You'll have to come.”

"What?” she balked. “They can’t make a bloody _ball_ mandatory.”

Cormac sauntered over and produced a different Ministry document from his pocket that she snatched out of his hand.

“The mandate came out this morning.”

Hermione scanned the letter once, twice, and a third time for good measure, her face falling and blood pressure rising more with each pass.

“For fuck’s sake,” she groaned and tossed the letter onto her desk so she could bury her face in her palms. 

Hermione scrubbed at the exhaustion swiftly returning to her weary body thanks to the stupid wizard and the stupid letter in front of her.

_‘Ordered to have fun via interdepartmental memo—who the blazes **does** that?’_

"Now, back to my original question. Any plans on who you’ll be going with?” he asked.

_**‘NOT** you.’_

"I'm not sure, Cormac,” Hermione spoke into her hands, the words coming out muffled before she drew in a deep, steadying breath, and at least picked up her head. “I honestly hadn't thought about it at all until you mentioned."

At that, he smiled.

"It just so happens that I'm still free if you want. We'd be the _belles of the ball,_ so to speak—the sexiest couple in attendance! Not that there’d be much competition. I mean, the only others in the running would probably be Potter and Weasley—the female one, that is. 

“Ron and Lav will be attending as well if I recall, but they're really no match for the likes of us together. The only other pair that _may_ give us a run for our Galleons would be Malfoy and whichever one of his witches he's apt to bring. Hell, if we weren’t limited to a plus one, he’d probably bring them all!" 

Cormac paused only to laugh at his own joke.

Hermione was interrupted out of her attempts to sooth her budding headache when she realized what he’d said.

"Wait, Malfoy is going to this thing? _Draco_ Malfoy? How is he even invited to a closed Ministry event? They didn't make it public this year, did they?"

Still coming down off his joking high, Cormac shook his head.

"No, he was supposed to appear as a speaker of some sort." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Supposedly, he’s had a hand in funding some of the departments at the Ministry. Expansions, research, you know, that sort of thing.” 

With that, he righted himself again and snatched his letter off her desk.

“Think about my offer, sweetheart. I’ll see you bright and early after you’ve had some time to sleep on it.” He winked and gave her an affectionate tap on the nose with a candy-coated finger.

Her face twisted into a disgusted glower at the feel of his sticky finger adhering to the tip of her nose before releasing with an extended _schlop!_

Cormac was, of course, oblivious. 

At the sound of her office door slamming behind his exit, Hermione growled and packed up her belongings, grumbling all the way to the Atrium and back home.


	14. The File

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous beasty things. '-'

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _  
_**Friday, February 2, 2001 – 8:00AM** _  
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
Yelling. She was yelling. Why was she yelling again? He couldn't remember, but she was yelling.

"Granger..."

"—estly, how could you fail to mention—"

“...Granger..."

"Furthermore—"

_"GRANGER!"_

"WHAT?"

"Stop yelling."

 _"I'M NOT—"_ Hermione stopped, cleared her throat, and softened her voice. "I'm _not_ yelling. I am _demanding_ an explanation as to why you completely failed to mention the fact that you’re attending the Ministry Valentine's Day ball with one of your choices of arm candy while _I'M_ working my arse off to try and find you a solution to your _beastly_ little problem."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her dismal attempt at humor, not finding it particularly funny but too tired to say much about it. He’d had a rough night with the beast.

The monster was becoming rowdier each night and it was starting to affect him during the day. He'd read about the side effects of the changes the longer they went on and loathed to find himself afflicted by them only barely a month into the curse. 

From what he noticed, his hearing was more sensitive already, along with his sense of smell and predilection for meat. He also noticed the smattering of unwelcome baser thoughts creeping into the back of his mind at the most inopportune times.

The most prominent one at the moment was the one telling him he should get the witch in front of him on her hands and knees, rip her tight little skirt and knickers off and fuck her at least twice. They could catch a nap stretched out in the sunbeams from the bay windows and when she woke up, they could have another go.

Draco eyed her skirt with a scowl.

Didn't he tell her to wear something ugly the next time she came over?

"Granger," he said again and turned to walk away from her fuming self in favor of returning to the dining room. "I said I was going to that stupid party sometime late last year before all of this decided to happen. I've really no intention of still showing up now. Particularly because the festivities aren't due to really start until the late evening and I'd rather not eat the guests."

Hermione gawked at his retreating back and swiftly followed, dropping her belongings on one of the sitting room's sofas on the way. 

"Last year? Just how long have you been investing in things at the Ministry?"

"Does it really matter?"

"It does to me!" She finally caught up to him as he crossed the threshold of the dining room and saw his massive spread of food on the table. Apparently, she’d interrupted his breakfast.

Draco stifled a yawn and drowsily pulled out one of the chairs for Hermione to sit in, allowing her to awkwardly settle in before completing his half-asleep shuffle to the other side of the table to reclaim his own seat. 

"Did you want anything?” he asked.

She shook her head, stubbornly declining his offer of food this time…even though everything looked amazing.

"Just for you to answer my question...please," she added the last as an afterthought.

"Whatever," he said with a sigh. "I wouldn't call it ‘investing' as much as I would call it ‘reparations.’"

"Reparations?"

"That's what _I_ would call it. Of course they don't call it that," he explained between chewing and swallowing bites of food. "Despite what decisions were made and announced to the press about mother and I being let off the hook, there were still underlying conditions. The fine print, as it was. Most of my contributions were more…give us money or we’ll put you in a cell and leave you to rot."

Draco devoured what remained of a small pile of eggs on his plate and heaped another scoop onto it along with some sausage links and bacon.

Hermione watched him shovel mounds of food onto his platter with wide eyes.

_‘He’d give Ron a run for his money.’_

"You're not really behind most of these charities and things I keep seeing your name on in the paper, then? They weren’t your ideas?"

He glanced up from a heaping forkful of eggs at what sounded a bit like disappointment in her tone. The beast rumbled in the back of his head at that.

_The female was displeased._

Draco didn’t care much about Hermione’s displeasure, though his other side seemed to be quite opposed to it. He found he had a very sudden urge to amend his previous statement.

"They weren't at first,” he said. “The Ministry, Hogwarts, Ollivander’s, the memorials, they all needed money to rebuild and the easiest place for them to find it was by Ministry ruled access to the Malfoy vaults. It was nothing I was keen on at first but it was better than Azkaban by leaps and bounds."

Draco watched Hermione's guarded features as he retold the early days after his official pardon. She did well to wipe her emotions from her face but he could see how she fidgeted and how her gaze trailed off to look everywhere but him. How disappointed she seemed that his story was less than a selfless, altruistic changing of his ways.

He frowned, feeling that urge to please her crawling up his throat. The next words came out before he’d even thought about what he was saying.

“You’ll find I’m an official partner with many of the organizations now,” he said.

Hermione pinned him with a look and a quizzically raised brow.

 _“Really?”_ she asked, unconvinced.

Draco swallowed down more of his food before sitting back and giving it a rest for the moment. He shrugged.

“Like I said, at first it wasn’t my choice. I wasn’t lying when I said I was working to change my associations. Since being court ordered to supply funding for these charities and reconstruction efforts, I’ve put much more into them than required.” 

Draco hesitated but when he saw he’d still had her attention, he continued. She already knew one of his worst secrets, what was another one for the stack?

“There’s a lot being done out there…in the aftermath. A lot of the efforts are failing because they don’t have the money to run or a platform to advertise. I figure it’s the least I can do. Especially after the part I played in all this mess.”

Hermione’s expression softened. She wasn’t sure what to say to that. They’d all been caught in the war, lots of people had, but the two of them had been much closer to it than most. She knew what it was like to have made it out alive after everything—the relief…the guilt. And she’d been on the ‘good’ side. Merlin only knew what it was like for him.

“Malfoy—”

Draco sat up straighter in his chair when she began to speak and quickly waved her off.

“It’s best that I funnel my Galleons into these things, anyway. If I don’t do something about my current situation soon, none of it will matter. S’a bit hard to manage investments with paws,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

It didn’t help. Hermione pursed her lips, her brow creasing into a stubborn line. She opened her mouth again, the pointer finger of one hand out and ready to waggle in his self-deprecating direction when a loud, squelching, grumbling growl came from her stomach.

Draco blinked.

Hermione’s mouth snapped shut with a _clack,_ her eyes wide, cheeks blazing, and one hand covering her offensive belly. Perhaps she should have said ‘yes’ to the food.

Another gurgle, louder than the last, sounded in the stillness of the dining room in outright disrespect.

Draco snorted and _laughed._

His bark of laughter rang out loud and long.

“Merlin, woman, here!” he said, shoving one of the serving platters brimming with meat in her direction. “There’s plenty here. Or I can have one of the elves fix you something else.”

Hermione crinkled her nose at the suggestion. Even after all these years, she still didn’t care for being waited on by house elves. She’d at least successfully been able to push and help get several laws passed that established them as a protected race even if the elves themselves had no desire to dissolve their status as housekeepers. Apparently, the majority of them loved it.

“I’m _fine,_ thank you,” she said. “I can eat later. Right now, I just want to—”

_GRRRreeeeaoooooowrrrrrrrrrrl_

Both hands clamped over her gut and Draco practically howled at the shade her cheeks were turning.

“Fuck’s sake, just bloody eat something, will you?” Draco pushed his own plate of food in her direction to punctuate his request. “Don’t make me come over there to feed you.”

Hermione glowered and felt her face heating more at the suggestion. She eyed his plate warily. Not typically the sort of person to eat after people, she couldn’t deny that some of the tidbits on his plate were more appealing than the mountain of meat and eggs he still had surrounding him on the table. 

_“Fine,”_ she said at last with a sigh.

Hermione rolled her eyes and snatched a piece of toast that was covered in orange marmalade off the edge of his plate. She chomped off a corner and as soon as the jam hit the tip of her tongue, her lids fluttered shut and her eyes rolled back with a groan.

She loved orange marmalade—L-O-V-E-D, _loved_ it. Sweet. Bitter. It didn’t matter, just spread that and a bit of butter on a crisp piece of toast and she was in heaven.

Draco watched her practically inhale the jam covered toast, unable to help how his eyes focused on her bottom lip and the sheen of the marmalade stubbornly clinging to her skin.

His nostrils flared when her tongue swept over the jam on her lip and whisked it back into her mouth, leaving only a plump, shiny pink lip in its wake. She moaned this time when it hit her tongue.

A hungry snarl curled his lip.

So eager to have her breakfast snack that Hermione managed to drip marmalade down into one of her palms. Hurriedly shifting so she didn’t get the sticky mess on her suit, she used her clean hand to tug and brush crumbs from her jacket, making sure she hadn’t already mucked it up.

“Sorry, Malfoy, do you have a cloth or something? I seem to have—”

Whatever she’d been about to say dropped off into nothingness when a warm grip encircled her wrist and something hot and wet and soft licked a long line up from the pulse point there to the very tip of her index finger.

Hermione gulped and found herself staring into glinting silver eyes that looked very much like they wanted to devour her as surely as their owner just devoured the marmalade from her skin. She opened her mouth to say something but all that came out was a strained whimper when Draco’s mouth closed around the sticky digit and a satisfied subterranean rumble vibrated through her body.

Wallowing in the scent wafting from her skin, Draco lost himself. He wanted to roll in it. He wanted to taste it, feel it, to bury himself in it until it clung to his flesh and fur.

Drawn to it—to _her_ —his body moved, closing the gap between them. Draco climbed across the table’s surface in a predatory slink, careless of the plates and trays still scattered about. 

As he neared, Hermione snaked the hand he’d been laving with his tongue into the hair at his nape. She guided him forward until their foreheads pressed together and their noses brushed.

Draco felt the rapid puffs of citrus-scented breath on his lips—her excited little pants of anticipation. He nuzzled her with his nose before finding a path down to the spot behind her ear he so adored. His teeth tugged at the skin there, rolled its meat between them until he earned one of her groans for himself.

Her scent spiked.

_The female was pleased._

Draco wanted to please her more.

_**CRASH!** _

The two of them jerked apart at the loud sound of dishes clattering onto the dining room floor; meat and eggs scattered everywhere.

They looked at each other, eyes wide and chests heaving. Draco stared from his place on hands and knees atop the table and Hermione from hers kneeling on her chair where she was eye level with his four-legged stance.

Hermione was the first to move, hastily stumbling off her chair and immediately finding something to do in cleaning up the fallen dishes and food.

“Sorry, Malfoy, I—s-sorry…”

Draco was slower. The instincts in him still screamed. At the moment they saw absolutely nothing wrong with distracting her from her cleaning duties to see if she happened to taste like sweet marmalade anywhere else.

Drawing in a deep, labored breath, he managed to force those thoughts back down with relative success. The same could not be said of other parts of his anatomy.

Scooting off the table, he stopped there, taking a lean against it and scrubbing at his face with both hands.

"This isn't going to work, is it?" His voice came muffled from behind his palms.

Hermione resurfaced with a haphazard mess of eggs and sausage piled on a platter and was far redder than she’d been when her stomach had begun talking at the table.

"No…” She sighed, deposited the tray back onto the table and mirrored his defeated lean on her side of it. “No, I don’t think it will.”

They stayed like that for uncounted seconds, the silence stretching between them in a way that was awkward…but not.

After a while, Hermione spoke up.

"I can…I’ll leave the files here for you,” she suggested. “Look through them and send me a list for the days and witches you want me to schedule the dates with. I’ll do the rest from there and owl you when it's complete."

"Right.” 

His voice was strained. So were his trousers. 

“Fine, sounds fine,” he said.

It was easier to speak to her without looking. If he didn’t have to see her enticing figure, it helped. Her scent though…it was practically singing for him to come and shag her.

Draco bit back a growl.

_'Merlin, how did animals do it?’_

It wasn’t just hers, there were so many other scents in the air, too. From the wood of the table to the cloth of the upholstery on the dining room chairs, it was a sensory overload. Even so, he could pick her out from them all as clearly as if she were covered in flashing lights.

Always, no matter what state she was in, there was the underlying smell of fresh linens that calmed him, soothed his senses. Right now, however, something had changed. That light floral smell she often carried with her was more prominent—stronger; it reminded him of freshly bloomed roses. That, combined with the heady scent of her arousal tugged at all the primal chords in him and rang him like a bloody bell.

“Right, then,” Hermione said, echoing his earlier statement. “I—I’m going to go.”

Concentrating on her calming her breathing, she coaxed her thoughts away—as far away as she could get them—from how much she wanted to shed all her clothing and leap across the table to pick up where they’d left off. 

She was positively _roasting._

If she could just peel off her blasted jacket and her blasted blouse and this _blasted skirt,_ she knew she’d feel better.

Hermione also knew, unequivocally, that straddling Draco and having his cock buried hilt-deep while he dug his claws into her back and set his teeth on her neck again would settle everything.

His mark on her neck throbbed.

So did her pussy.

**_“Granger—”_ **

Hermione opened her eyes that she hadn’t remembered closing and saw that she was facing Draco once again. He was half poised on the table top, the muscles in his shoulders bunched and a dangerous look in that silver gaze that almost seemed to make them glow.

“You should go,” he snarled.

Hermione shuddered at the sound of it but started making her way from the room.

“Right!” she squeaked. “Going.”

She left slowly, half stumbling out of the room without turning her back on him, somehow feeling that if she did, it’d all be over.

Draco stared.

His eyes tracked her every step with nostrils flared and his fingers curling harshly into the table—the last barrier of resistance between him and her being on the receiving end of a carnal fucking.

"The files…I’ll—I’ll leave them on the sofa.”

  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-..-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**

  
After making her exit, Hermione retreated to her office at the Ministry. Avoiding the odd looks and stares she got as she power-walked from the Atrium to the confines of her private office, once she was there, she closed and locked the door before collapsing to the floor against it.

Her heart was racing and she couldn’t seem to get a handle on her breathing.

 _“Fuck!”_ she hissed.

She was fine at lunch the day before.

Well…okay, sure, perhaps she’d had a few impure thoughts during their business meeting but it wasn’t anything like what’d just occurred!

She readjusted herself so that her back was flush against the door with her legs sticking straight out in front of her, head lolling to one side. One great sigh later, she still found herself suffering through the ever-persistent trills of excitement and eager clenching between her thighs.

Hermione thumped her head against the wood behind her several times as though it might jostle some sense into her idiot head. Or perhaps it’d at least jostle the colorfully wicked thoughts of shagging Draco Malfoy with or without his beastly attire out of it.

The magic. It was all the ridiculous magic that she’d gotten tangled in. It was driving her mad.

Maybe it was the house playing a part. Yes, that could be it. Surely she’d be able to find more information about any magic tied to the Manor if she just plowed on through the journal—

_‘Shit.’_

The journal. Bellerose’s diary…she’d left the damned book in her bag with the files—on Malfoy’s couch.

Hermione ran through an extensive series of mental debates just then on why she should and shouldn’t go back to retrieve them. Her biggest argument, and the one that ended up being the top reasoning both for and against returning, was the fact that if she stepped a single foot back into that place right now, she would fuck him until he forgot how to talk.

No.

There would be no going back there. Not today, anyway.

Hermione needed to talk to him about the diary but she hardly got through a piece of toast before she’d tried to ride him.

She could send him a message asking him to have Corvus return it to her…or perhaps a public meeting. That seemed to go a bit better.

Whatever the case, anything involving him and her and now was completely out of the question.

"Hermione!” a voice called from the other side of her door.

Hermione grimaced.

"Pet, you in there?"

That frown deepened.

_‘Brilliant. Precisely what I needed…’_

Picking herself up off the floor, Hermione took a steadying breath and cracked open her door just enough to peer out at the git on the other side.

"McLaggen. Morning. And what can I do for you today?"

Not taking the hint at all, Cormac pushed into her office, nearly smacking her in the face with her own door.

“Not a lot,” he said. “I thought I saw you come in and realized that I’d forgotten to give you this other notice from the records department yesterday. Thought I’d take care of that business this morning and, conveniently while I’m here, see if you’d given any thought yet to my offer!”

Hermione rubbed at the spot on her collarbone where the door had smacked into her before shutting it once again. She attempted to fix her face, willing her expression into as cordial and pleasant a one as she could muster.

"You _just_ asked me last night. And also: _what_ notice?"

Cormac handed over a much smaller sealed envelope than the one he provided to her the night before. He flopped into one of her guest chairs facing her large oak desk immediately kicking his feet up onto the wood and spreading muck from his heels onto some papers stacked nearby.

Hermione glared at his boots and made to examine the notice before she ended up incinerating the wizard on the spot.

When it became clear she was going to scan over the letter in silence, Cormac piped up.

“What is it?”

She waved him off, having all of zero intentions of sharing the contents with him, pocketing it instead.

“Nothing. Thank you for delivering it. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” she began, moving to her door with the hopes of shooing him out.

"Ah ah ah!” he said, “There's still the matter of the Valentine's event."

Hermione stood there, one hand on the doorknob and the other mid-sweeping motion to suggest he leave.

She ran her tongue over her teeth with a long, loud sucking noise.

She took a deep breath.

She smiled—it was all teeth and murder.

"Thank you, but no."

The man didn’t budge. 

_‘Fuck it!’_

Resolving to at least get some work done despite him, Hermione abandoned her post at her office door to push past his lanky form taking up far too much oxygen in her space so she could get to her own seat behind her desk. As she scooted by, Cormac planted his feet back on the ground and tugged her down onto his lap.

“Come now, Hermione! Just think of it!”

Hermione stiffened at his contact, eyes catching fire as soon as one of his arms caught her to hug her to his chest.

With his free arm, he reached out in front of them, framing an imaginary picture with his hand.

If this had been a Muggle job, she could have their human resources department string him up. Unfortunately, she’d already tried to get the wanker fired at least once before to no avail.

_'I will not kill McLaggen...I need my job...'_

"You. Me. The ball,” Cormac began wistfully, “The two prettiest people in the room. It was meant to be, pet. We can tell everyone that it was truly the start of our romance. Who knows? A couple of months down the line, our wedding night, you wearing a racy little number and me wearing, well…" He waggled his eyebrows, his tongue curled behind his top teeth in more than just a subtle suggestion. “Can you imagine? Our children would be exquisite, Hermione, what with your brains and my natural athleticism and good looks—"

_'Their WEDDING night? CHILDREN?!'_

With barely contained fury, Hermione Cormac’s arm off her and scrambled off his lap, smacking away his hands when they tried to fetch her again. 

"Do you ever actually **_LISTEN_ **to yourself when you speak, McLaggen?!"

He scoffed, unperturbed, and got to his feet.

"Of course! All the time."

Hermione's jaw unhinged. 

_'How thick could you get?'_

Before she got another chance to speak he encroached on her space bubble once again, managing to barely pinch her cheek before she slapped his hand away.

"You're right, though, of course. I'll come back later after you've had some more time to consider it!"

Mouth agape, Hermione watched the most insufferable, infuriating wizard she’d ever laid eyes on strut out of her office.

As soon as he was clear of the threshold, she shut and locked the door, even adding a few extra locking charms on it for good measure before depositing herself into her desk chair. Massaging her temples at the lunacy of it all, Hermione tugged the note from earlier back out to examine it further, brows drawn.

  
_**Dear Ms. Hermione Granger,** _

_**Some of the records you have borrowed from The Ministry of Magic Department of Demographics and Population are past due the agreed upon return date. Please continue to be advised that it is our policy to release records to approved individuals for a standard number of 10 days only without prior approval. Our records show that the following item(s) have yet to be returned:** _  
  


_**Requested By: Granger, Hermione J.** _  
_**Employee Clearance Level: Gold** _  
_**File Name: Greengrass, Astoria – 2000 Census – Population Profile** _  
_**Clearance Level Required: Bronze** _

_**Requested By: Granger, Hermione J.** _  
_**Employee Clearance Level: Gold** _  
_**File Name: Greengrass, Astoria – 1999 Academic Profile – Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry** _  
_**Clearance Level Required: Silver** _  
  


_**Please return the aforementioned item(s) as soon as possible to avoid escalated corrective actions with your superior. Thank you for your continued cooperation and compliance in this matter.** _  
  


_**Sincerely,** _  
_**Gregory Hafner** _  
_**Head Coordinator of Ministry Records** _  
  


Hermione read and re-read the past due notice, baffled as to why she was getting it at all. 

She swore she’d returned everything just the other day; she was certain of it, in fact. Astoria Greengrass hadn’t made the cut for his potentials, so why was she still showing up as checked out?

Hermione made a mental note to check at home that evening and then, worst case scenario, with Draco directly. 

She needed to have it back before she ended up with another mark against her and an idiotic end to her career for owing late fees.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are getting a bit longer and taking longer to edit. D: I might have to go down to one a day instead of two but they'll still keep on coming. :)


	15. The Kissed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (❀◕ ‿ ◕❀
> 
> Hopefully this will tide some of y'all over.

__,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,__   
_Saturday, February 3, 2001 – 8:00PM_   
_-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--_

  
Draco laid on the cold stone floor of the sitting room, naked, on his back, staring at the ceiling. 

He had a little time yet before he’d better prepare himself for the change. He felt it at the edges of his consciousness now that he knew what to look for; it crept in little by little.

Draco’s senses were becoming much sharper, even more so than when Granger was in his dining room. As it was, he could only handle a little bit of light without it hurting his eyes. He allowed a smattering of candles and the fire burning low in the hearth but even that was almost too much. Able to see as clearly as though it were dawn, Draco traced the paths of fat floating dust motes as they drifted through the air with lazy ease. He watched them…and he waited.

A loud crackle and a snap came from the fireplace, drawing him out of his daze.

Hermione’s voice cut through the silence of the room.

“Malfoy?” she called out, voice distorted by the magic of the floo. “Malfoy, are you there?”

Draco blinked and chanced a look at the clock above the fireplace. Frowning, he rolled onto his hands and knees, crawling to the low, flickering flames.

“Granger, have you any idea what time it is? I can’t talk right now—what is it you want?”

“Yes, yes, yes, I know! I’m sorry! I meant to try to contact you earlier but I got involved with something. This will take only a moment. I need to retrieve something I left there yesterday. It’s part of my research on the curse, it’ll take just two seconds! Give me access to the floo, will you?”

Draco shook his head. It was far too close to the change now. It was too close and he was far too naked to entertain her. Those two things combined could mean precisely nothing but trouble.

“Not a chance. It’s almost time. You can come over in the morning but right now, you’ll have to wait.”

“Draco, this is important!” The fire popped with her raised voice. “I may very well have figured it out, but I need this _thing_ to be sure. You’re the one wasting time now! Just let me over now before it gets any later.”

_Huh._

It sounded like good logic to him.

That made sense.

She’d be in and out in a jiffy, nothing to worry about.

Draco felt a distant ache in his muscles starting at his neck. He rubbed at it absently before getting to his feet and locating his trousers.

_“Fine._ Just a moment and I’ll let you in. Be ready to grab what you need and go.”

Seconds later, green flames flared to life in the fireplace and Hermione’s diminutive figure stumbled through.

His jaw just about unhinged from his skull when he saw her, all clad in a slinky emerald-colored slip, hair down, tits practically out. The shimmering green fabric barely came down to the tops of her thighs and the long line of her neck was exposed. It looked pale, soft, and unblemished with only her lily-shaped pendant marring the visual from where the chain draped over her collarbone and the delicate flower rested between the swell of her breasts.

Hermione’s unique, perfumed aroma filled the air between them. She was much closer than he recalled. She was also much shorter than he recalled, but maybe that was because she was barefoot. He admired the silver shade of polish on her toes for only a moment before he made himself look her in the eyes once more, only getting distracted once by the way her dark curls fell around her shoulders.

“Where is it?” Hermione didn’t bother with pleasantries and, instead, began looking around the immediate area of the sitting room. “Where is it?” she said again, more agitated this time.

So engrossed in his study of her arse as she moved around the room, he missed the first few times she called to him.

Did she honestly sleep in that? It barely covered anything. He could see the delicious round rump of hers quite clearly from beneath the edge of emerald but had yet to spot a clear visual of whatever shade of knickers she was sporting underneath it all.

“Malfoy!” Hermione snapped.

“Huh? Wh— _oh._ I’ve no idea where it is. I don’t even know what it is! What did you leave here?”

“The ** _book,_** Draco! The book!” She then began miming a description of it alongside her words. “About this big, this thick, tan with little red splotches, and a rose on the cover. It’s impossible to miss! It was in my bag with the files. Where is it?!” 

Draco was very distracted by the way her breasts moved beneath her nightie.

“Book…” he mumbled, watching her nipples pebble from the friction of rubbing against the silk. “I don’t recall a—wait. I did see that!”

Hermione’s mood brightened considerably and she followed his path to one of the curio cabinets in the room, stepping close as though she were his shadow. He’d set everything on it the night before and the book in question was waiting for him at the very top of the borrowed files. Draco grabbed it and held it out to her. She immediately snatched it from his grasp. Hermione opened it eagerly, flipping through the pages to a spot marked with a small yellow sticky tab and scanned the words on the page.

Draco took the opportunity, what with her being so close and so distracted, to boldly stare down her negligee. From this angle, he had an even better view of the roundness of her breasts. They looked cold. He’d like to warm them.

"What language is that writing?" he asked idly while leaning ever closer. 

The heat radiating from her body was alluring. Even with the space still between them, she felt like a furnace, growing ever hotter the closer he strayed. Along with her temperature, the scent of fresh soap and shampoo wafted from her skin and hair. It teased his nostrils smelling strong and clean and familiar.

Draco’s hand drifted towards one thick, chestnut curl that’d come forward to cover her face, intent on brushing it away so he could see more of her.

She blinked up at him then, a funny look furrowing her brows and pursing her lips.

“What do you mean ‘what language?’ It’s French. I though you read French.”

Hermione held the book up for him to see the passage she’d been reading, reciting the written words aloud with a practiced accent before smoothly translating it into English.

“See?”

For his part, Draco ignored whatever it was she was trying to show him. He wasn’t interested in words. They were a silky string of syllables of another language he couldn’t make out and, at the moment, didn’t care to. Draco _was_ interested in seeing exactly how that sweet, lush lip of hers would taste if he tugged it between his teeth and sucked on it a bit.

A growl trickled free from his throat and Draco plucked the book from her hand to toss it aside.

"Hey! Give that back!"

Hermione moved as though she’d intercept it and found herself pinned to the cabinet following a firm shove.

Draco curled his hands over her hipbones and when she planted her hands on his bare chest and began her protests, he immediately started rubbing circles over the dips at her pelvis with his thumbs.

“Enough of the book,” he purred. “Did you really come here for that…dressed like _this?”_

Draco nodded at her silky green attire and watched her skin flush red—it was Christmas. And very much past time for him to unwrap his present.

“I-I’m sorry. I was reading and I— _ah!”_

He cut her stammering short by hefting her onto cabinet, knocking all the items atop it onto the floor with an uncaring series of clatters and crashes. Readjusting her so her smooth thighs straddled either side of his hips, he caught her eyes briefly before burying his nose against her neck.

“You plague my mind,” he rasped out, inhaling deeply of the fragrance that could only be described as _‘Hermione.’_ “Ever since you tumbled through that bloody fireplace two weeks ago, every day…every _night…”_

Draco’s voice was little else beyond a low growl, his speech shifting into something more menacing as his mouth filled and fit growing lengths of fangs.

“No more waiting—I’ll have you tonight!”

_“Draco!”_

His name came out on a moan when he pressed the hot, hard evidence of his arousal firmly between her legs and it jolted straight to his cock.

Hermione’s head lolled back, supported only by the hand he wound through her hair, more torrid moans falling from her throat as he rubbed himself against the growing wetness of the thin satin cloth keeping him from his prize. Draco felt her hands trailing over him, down his chest, her nails biting into his flesh and tearing angry red lines all the way to the waistband of his trousers.

_“…Draco…I need you…”_

It was as though her voice came from everywhere.

“Gods, I know, I can _smell_ you,” Draco groaned heatedly against her skin.

He licked a hot stripe over her shoulder and that heady scent thickened.

He felt her hands scrabbling at his zip, felt an unwelcome breeze on his legs and shaft just long enough for him to appreciate the return of her heat against his skin.

Hermione’s soaked panties barely covered her anymore as she rubbed and writhed and he could feel the swollen nub of her clit on the underside of his cock. 

A feral noise built in his chest, a rumbling of promise that grew and strengthened into something deep and dark and primal before crawling free from his maw.

_“…I want you to take me…”_ It was a command.

He should obey.

With a throaty snarl, Draco lunged for her shoulder, opening his wide muzzle of razor sharp teeth and biting hard into the meat of it. His teeth sank through the flesh with ease and the tang of her blood hit his tongue—the taste was ambrosia.

Hermione howled in pleasure and in pain. Her hips stuttered in their writhing movements, crashing into his with jerky spasms instead as his body continued to transform.

Massive claws shredded her slip and underthings, freeing her scent to him—earthy and primal and _his._

He spread her legs, growling at the musk that hit his shifting nose, digging his teeth deeper into her shoulder.

He felt the dripping slick from her core slide down his thighs with every frantic thrust he made to get nearer to it.

Draco’s feet cracked and lengthened, stretching into great hind paws that brought him ever closer to the perfect height for where he kept her. 

His back broadened, muscles spasmed and seized group by group until they formed into mountains of thick hide, covered in a dense blanket of fur that belonged nowhere on anything human. 

The pain that riddled the change was absent tonight, muted by the dizzying heat of the witch clawing at him, humping, moaning out and keening for him.

_“Take me—”_

_The female wanted him._

_It was her command._

_He **had to** obey._

When her hot little hands found their way to his length, he wrenched his muzzle free of her shoulder with a sickening sucking noise. Rivulets of her blood ran down and matted the fur of his chin; she hardly noticed.

Hermione’s eyes gleamed up at him, burning discs of molten gold peering up from beneath wickedly dark lashes. 

She held his stare and when she begged for him again, her voice was sultry and thick and full of _everything he needed._

**_“Draco—”_ **

Snarling, Draco sank into her in one single, powerful movement. Those shining eyes disappeared behind her fluttering lids and her mouth fell open in a torrid moan.

He felt her muscles clenching, pulsing around his cock, trying to adjust to the sudden invasion of her most delicate parts. It only served to draw him deeper. It strengthened his urge to mate her and when the beast overtaking his mind growled at him to rut his bitch, he listened.

_She sheathed him so perfectly._

_Her tight, silky muscles were made for him._

_So slick and warm and eager._

Pistoning his hips, Draco lost any sense of the world around him.

His hazy thoughts were only for his little female and how she wrapped so snugly around him; to the strength of her claws cutting into his hide and marking him hers as surely as she belonged to him.

His thrusts stuttered, beginning to lose rhythm.

His cock head butted up against her womb.

The base of him swelled and urged for harder, deeper, _more._

With every kiss of her honeyed lips to the growing bulge of his knot, he needed her more and more. Her cries for him wound the muscles in his body tighter. The fur along his back spiked with shivers that ran through him from nose to toe at every sweet, desperate whimper he pumped from her.

Hermione’s heels dug into his hips as she arched and pawed and begged for him to slip just that much more inside of her— _to tie them together…_

**_Forever—_ **

Roaring her name, Draco slammed himself hilt-deep, the bulge at his base slipping past her slicked entrance, swelling and stretching her, locking him in place. 

His balls, heavy with his seed, clenched. 

A shudder ran through his massive frame and he felt himself begin to come.

Hermione’s delicate fingers carded up through the thick fur covering his chest, his cock still spilling his cum inside of her—marking her.

Her warm arms danced up to encircle his neck, finally drawing his attention back to her face. Her eyes were half-lidded; they were glowing.

Hermione’s lips twisted into a smile the likes of which he’d never seen on her before. It sucked the warmth from the air around them.

**_Perfect…_ **

Golden eyes shone with wicked satisfaction.

The air around them vibrated with an uncomfortable kind of magic.

The scent of sex and musk and _Hermione_ turned into something cloying…something **_wrong._**

**_"You are perfect..."_ **

_Draco looked at his witch again and where Hermione should have been, he saw a woman who looked very much like her…but was wicked. The wicked woman with her wicked lips peered up at him, sneering. She moved her fingers over his cheek fondly, lingering there to toy with the blood staining his fur as his cock continued to spasm and empty inside her._

**_"You can be the one to set us free..."_ **   
  


_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Saturday, February 3, 2001 – 8:00AM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

Draco's eyes shot open from his spot on the cold floor of the Manor's sitting room, heart pounding and breathing heavy. He pushed to his hands and knees and looked around the room, frantic and addled. 

The room was well-placed and undisturbed thanks to the charms he'd put in place after he’d grown tired of repeatedly repairing furniture from his uncontrolled outbursts of rage post-transformation. It helped keep his cleaning bills down but also resulted in the consequences of having a harder time tracing the steps of what he’d done as the monster. Sometimes the memories took a bit to come back to him. Today was one of those days.

“What the blazes…”

Draco frowned, confused at the satisfying soreness in his lower back and loins. It felt as though he’d done a particularly strenuous, but good workout and stretched a whole mess of muscles that needed it.

“Oh, what the _fuck?”_ His frown turned into a disgusted sneer at the mess of cum smeared all over the tops of his thighs, belly, and floor. 

His spotty memory cleared at the evidence of his spend and his dream came racing back to him in startling detail—and his blood went racing back to his dick.

"Malfoy! Malfoy, are you there?"

Draco’s head whirled around in the direction of Hermione’s voice sizzling through the spent ashes of the fireplace. His hands slapped over his cum-streaked body to hide his shame.

“Granger—” Draco’s voice was hoarse and ragged, his vocal chords still stiff from the transformation and much more animal than man. “What is it?”

“Ah…that is…I left something over there yesterday by mistake. Part of my research.”

His pale eyebrows shot straight into his hairline and with the worst sense of deja vu, he sought out the time on the mantel clock.

_‘Daytime—thank fucking Merlin.’_

The errant thought of fucking _her_ stuck in his mind and his cock twitched.

“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind meeting me somewhere this morning and bringing it. We could have breakfast…or brunch? …if you’d like.”

Draco peered at the vague shape of her head formed from ash and embers. She must not have been able to see much. If she could, she likely wouldn’t still be talking to him.

**“Fine.”** It came out a growl. He swallowed around a thick lump in his throat and tried to sound more human this time. “What is it you need me to bring?”

"A book."

Draco swallowed again and this time, the lump in his throat had nothing to do with his transformation.

“A book?” he echoed. “What book?”

He _knew_ what book.

Draco looked towards the curio cabinet where he’d left her bag’s contents the night before. He’d spent most of the afternoon looking at the files she’d left him, but only after trying to figure out what the small journal was that she’d kept along with them. He’d not been able to decipher the elegant cursive on the pages when he looked at it then but now…after that dream…he had a sneaking suspicion there was a reason for that, and an unsavory one at that.

“A diary. It’s something that came over with the journals Corvus brought me in one of the deliveries. I think it may be important!”

_‘No fucking shit it was important.’_

He glared in the direction of where he knew the diary to be.

“I did see that, yeah,” he hesitated, unsure if he wanted to ask his next question. “Granger…what language is the text in that book?”

There was a pause that mirrored his own.

A very faint crackle came from the sooty head in the fireplace.

“What? It’s French. Just like the rest of them. I thought you read French—did you not look at it?”

Draco grimaced.

“Meet me at that Muggle cafe in an hour.”

He closed the floo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ･`ω･´)


	16. The Dates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed a little break to clear out some exhaustion so this is a bit late from my desired re-posting schedule. Hope you like it!

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Monday, February 5, 2001 – 8:00PM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
Another Monday night found Hermione curled up in her living room, tucked under a fuzzy blanket with the mysterious journal settled in her lap. 

Her and Draco’s meeting at the cafe had been quick and stilted. It lasted only long enough for her to gain back the book and get a glimpse of him so early after the end of his transformation. He’d been on edge, skittish. She supposed it didn’t help that the place had been far more crowded than either of them thought it would be. 

From Hermione’s experience with certain were-creatures in the past, she knew their senses were still trying to settle back into something human so close to a transformation. She couldn’t imagine being around all those raucous sights and sounds so soon after had done him any favors either.

Perhaps that’s why he’d been looking at her as though he’d been ready to devour her whole throughout their entire short handoff.

The problem was, she’d been entirely ready to _let_ him.

Hermione shivered.

It’d been two days and she still couldn’t get her mind off of him—off the things she wanted him to do to her.

It was becoming ever more problematic as the days dragged on. She combated it as best she could by digging into her research. The distraction helped. So did the fact that her most recent findings required his assistance in garnering more information.

Most of the diary entries she had to plow through were useless and borderline annoying. Hermione couldn’t count how many entries were just of the girl fawning over the arrangements for their engagement party, plans for the venue, her dress, et cetera. It took her redoubled efforts and persistence searching line-by-line and word-by-word to finally come out with an entry which confirmed the girl’s move to the very Manor that haunted Hermione’s dreams.

With that, Hermione contacted Draco to search his family line to figure out precisely who would’ve been alive then to be the girl’s fiance. He’d seemed almost happy to hear from her and certainly eager to help. Except they soon reached a rather unforeseen snag.

As was typical of the Malfoy family line, there was one male heir born to each wedded couple—no more, no less. From what Draco told her, this was the case for as long as anyone could remember and as far back as they had records. The journal entries she was going through were from 1739 so theoretically it should have been extremely easy for them to pinpoint the Malfoy in question, save for the facts that records around that time were suspiciously absent from their library. 

His family’s history seemed to drop off into nothingness between the final records of Brutus Malfoy in the 17th century and Septimus in the late 18th. The journals he’d been able to find with any information about the curse didn’t become common until well into the early 1800s and when he’d gone to seek out the family tapestry stored deep within the heart of the Manor, it, too, was absent.

While Hermione, in her experienced sleuthing, knew this all to be a good sign—100% positive now that they were on the right track to find the origins and, in turn, a cure for the curse—Draco was distraught.

Hermione assured him during their last floo call that they would figure it all out and break the spell in time.

Draco was less than sure about that…and frantic.

Worst case scenario, if they couldn’t break the curse entirely, he could marry and at least stave it off.

He’d begrudgingly agreed to her logic and allowed himself to be soothed.

Draco’s dates were to begin the following afternoon. He’d have his pick of those witches she’d arranged for him to meet. One way or the other, he’d be fine.

So why did her stomach churn at the thought?

“Lunacy,” Hermione huffed to herself and snapped the diary shut. “Lunacy is why.”

Deciding to call it a night, Hermione snuggled up beneath her blanket on the sofa. Too wiped to even make it the few feet to her bedroom, she settled in where she was and was asleep in minutes.

The image of a beautifully made, pink-gold charm in the shape of a rose danced in her dreams.

  
_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Tuesday, February 6, 2001 – 2:00PM – Clarissa** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

"I would absolutely adore a huge wedding. We would have the engagement party at the Manor, of course, but the wedding—oh, I think I'd like to do an outdoor wedding! Oh, yes! We could have it in the summer at sunset, the sun sinking in the distance with the color reflecting in the water that the cliff overlooks—"

"Cliff?"

"Yes, Draco, keep up!" The petite black haired witch giggled and swatted at his hand across the table playfully before continuing her fantasy. "A hilltop wedding in the evening, all the most important people invited of course. I suppose one or two approved photographers to capture the wedding of the century!"

Draco blinked owlishly at the woman. Her words drowned out into unintelligible blabber the longer she went on. He had barely introduced himself to his date an hour ago and it wasn't long before she stole the lead on the conversation and began talking about her dream wedding. 

It started all hypothetically at first but at some point, she saw fit to include him specifically in said fantasy. He leaned back in his chair, idly thumbing shapes into the condensation on his glass while he listened to his fate with this witch play out.

Draco’s eyes roved over her otherwise preoccupied figure, weighing the outcome of seeing her again. She was pretty, of course, with jet black hair that fell straight as an arrow down her back. Her skin was pale like his and her eyes a shade of icy blue which he did find stunning. He watched her mouth as she yammered and admired the bright shade of ruby painting her lips. With as much and as fast as she spoke, the red paint created hypnotic blurred streaks of red as she eagerly described their future together.

He fell into a daze, focusing on the bright color against her near-white skin. Tracing the curve of her lips with his eyes his gaze wandered until it caught the faint lines of her veins spidering out across her cheeks and neck. The subtle blue lines ran like a roadmap over her body and he found himself following a path down to her neck where he lingered at the pulse point behind her jaw. Her skin jumped ever so lightly with each beat of her heart.

He wet his lips.

Red, deeper and more satisfying than her painted lips lurked beneath that skin in those tiny little veins. She was a delicate thing. Thin and frail and not at all built for him. She would break beneath his claws. She couldn’t handle his bite like his female did. 

This one, he would tear her open and she’d bleed out that gorgeous deep, deep red out all over her skin.

"Draco?"

Draco startled out of his daze. He’d drifted forward, towards the witch and at her call, his gaze darted up from her neck to her eyes where she was looking at him with her best sultry half-lidded stare.

"Are you alright? Did you want to...get out of here? Maybe somewhere a little more private?” she asked, placing a dainty hand on his bicep.

He barely refrained from recoiling at her touch. Instead, he managed a polite smile.

“I apologize,” he said. “I’ve not been feeling well recently. I think we’ll have to call the date short. Perhaps we can reschedule after I’ve had a bit of rest?”

Draco excused himself, quickly taking care of the bill and leaving the bewildered witch in his wake. 

  
_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Wednesday, February 7, 2001 – 10:45AM – Flora** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.—** _   
  


The witch before him looked as delicate as her name suggested.

 _'A little waif of a thing,'_ thought Draco snidely as he pulled her seat out for her. 

After his hasty exit from his other date, he was extra jittery and didn't much care for the delicate flower of a woman before him. If he wasn’t careful, he might shatter her from looking in her direction too hard.

Glancing about the restaurant, he noticed that everything seemed to be so much sharper and vivid for him than even the day before. As he sat facing this new witch, he could see all the minuscule freckles dotting her nose, he heard the way she sucked at her teeth between sentences, and most of all, he could smell the overpowering fragrance of her perfume.

She smelled like she’d doused herself in a bucket of vanilla and sweet maple syrup and it was making his stomach turn.

"Ah, thank you Draco! Such a gentleman."

Flora smiled a wide too-bright smile.

"Robby—my ex—never did things like that. He wouldn't know what being a gentleman was if you hit him with a tome about it!"

Draco arched an eyebrow but settled in his seat as best he could without gagging. In an effort to stifle her scent, he propped an elbow on his armrest and half-covered his nose as though he were truly riveted and intrigued by her story.

"It's a lost art it seems,” he said. 

She gave him another of her smiles—it was something of a Cheshire cat grin which seemed to take up the entirety of her face.

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” she said. “I mean, when I was dating Robby—as I said before—he would never do anything like that! He wouldn’t open a door for me, wouldn’t get my chair, wouldn’t take me on nice vacations anywhere—he was a complete waste! This one time—”

Draco sneered behind his hand as she launched into an animated retelling of escapades with her ex-boyfriend that he dutifully dubbed _‘The Terrible Robby Show.’_

Apparently, the bloke had been something of a ‘bad boy’ type with a heart of gold. Draco also learned that she and Robby were ‘truly in love’ but for circumstances beyond them, they had to engage in a ‘very obviously mutual breakup, which was okay because he never knew how to treat her anyway.’

Draco blinked.

He listened to her suck on her teeth.

_‘We haven’t even eaten yet—what bloody reason does she have to suck her teeth?’_

Hackles raised, he pulled his hand from his face long enough to speak without muffling the question.

“Excuse me if this is at all forward but exactly how long ago did you two split up?”

Flora appeared thoughtful for a long time, her teeth sucking blissfully absent while the gears in her head chugged to life.

“Two—no, three weeks ago.” She smiled that wide smile again. “Oh! That reminds me of something Robby said to me before we broke up—”

Purgatory?

Hell?

He wasn’t certain.

Whatever this place he was in was, it smelled like a vat of vanilla and maple.  
  


  
_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Friday, February 9, 2001 – 1:45PM – Alexandria** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.-** _

Draco was feeling a bit better about the day's date versus the others thus far. 

He met the young witch for a late lunch and they were enjoying simple sandwiches and simple conversation. 

For her part, Alexandria seemed like a nice enough woman. She was well mannered and relatively quiet, all things considered. She didn't laugh too loud, suck her teeth, smell like crystallized sugar incarnate, or sketch out seating arrangements for their wedding—so far, so good!

While he didn't feel the intense urge to throw the woman down and shag her silly as he did with Hermione, he did appreciate many of the intelligent and well thought out replies to their various topics of conversation. 

Draco felt good about this one. She was _definitely_ in the running for a second date.

"Do you mind if I order dessert?”

"Not at all, provided you don't mind sharing." Draco smiled roguishly and winked.

Alexandria blushed prettily and nodded.

"Of course! It would be my pleasure really."

He signaled the waiter and several minutes later they returned with a heaping slice of tiramisu and a shiny new fork for each of them. Draco smirked when the witch's eyes lit up as she took in the tasty looking dessert.

"Ohh! This is my favorite kind of sweet, ever!" She snatched up her fork and took a bit, letting loose a delighted 'mmm' at the taste of the cake.

"I'm glad you like it. Is this chocolate?" Draco inspected the little brown particles dusted all over the stark white plate the cake sat upon curiously.

Her eyes went round as saucers.

"You don't know? You've never had it before?! Oh! Here, let me."

She caught his attention with the proffered piece of tiramisu balanced easily on her fork and thrust forward with such confidence. Draco eyed the morsel, having zero intention of being fed in public by a grown woman. He gave her a polite smile, ready to decline.

"Thank you, but I was just joking really. I'm pretty full—"

"Aww, c'mon _ickle Dwakie._ Open up for 'Xandria!"

Draco's face fell.

"…pardon?"

Alexandria swirled the fork around, her sole attention focused on getting him to sample the dessert.

"Open, open! C'mon Dwakie-poo, just a 'ittle wittle taste. It's good, I promise!"

_'Was she...?'_

His eyes followed the dessert where it was perched on her fork, watching it bob up and down with her motions as she inched it ever closer as though it were a Nimbus flying towards his face.

"Here comes the bwoom! _Pshooooom!"_

He opened his mouth to say something—to protest, maybe call her a daft bint—and swiftly found a creamy, coffee-flavored cake popped into his mouth. 

Nothing about this was pleasant.

Draco smiled tightly at Alexandria’s stupidly proud expression, nodding at her as he fought his mouth while it tried very hard to twist into a disgusted grimace.

As soon as she returned to her cake, he spat into his napkin as discreetly as he could.

  
_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Tuesday, February 13, 2001 – 12:40PM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.—** _

  
Hermione tipped the teapot to top off Draco’s cup. She'd lost count of which number it was since they’d arrived to the cafe for their lunch meeting where it was decidedly less crowded than the last time they were together. 

"So... that bad huh?"

He snorted into his tea and gave her a half nod. 

"You could say that. You could say that a thousand times over."

Hermione frowned and broke a croissant in half, munching on it for a moment as she pondered the situation.

"I could always pull different candidates if you'd like. I mean, initially I _did_ only bring you a handful of the witches that are available based on my…misconception. I could go back and scour the records—"

_**"No!”** _

Hermione flinched at the sudden boom of his voice and he cleared his throat and tried again.

“No more of these ridiculous dates,” he said, quieter but no less emphatically.

Something about what he said made her shoulders stiffen and he felt the air between them chill _just_ a bit. In a knee-jerk reaction, he amended his statement.

“Although…if we extended the search, that may put you back on the list,” Draco drawled in an attempt to lighten her mood. “If that’s the case, I may reconsider. Remember, Granger? Long walks on the beach, holding hands—”

That seemed to draw her back out.

She reached across the table to smack him on the arm, though it was more playful than not. Draco happened to be very well-educated in what a hit from Hermione Granger felt like and this was a tap, nothing more.

“In your dreams, Malfoy.”

 _“Every bloody night,”_ Draco mumbled.

"Sorry?"

_‘Shit.’_

He hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

"Nothing."

Hermione squinted at him but ultimately let it go.

“Right,” she said. “Well…in all seriousness, you really haven’t found a witch you’d like to move to the second tier of dates?”

"Again, no. I thought there might have been one but she decided to start playing _Hogwarts Express_ with her food and my mouth was the tunnel."

The look on her face was trapped somewhere between morbid curiosity and horror.

“Your mouth was the _what_ now?”

 _“Never mind._ The answer is no, these stupid bit—”

"Draco!"

“— _ladies_ are completely self-absorbed, stuck up, snooty, and useless! And they _**stink!"**_

She blinked.

"They...stink?"

He rubbed his face with his hands.

"Forget it."

Draco found himself growing more and more irritable each day. Between his dates’ awful personalities, his changes leaving him with more and more residual rage from the beast, and not to mention the very lucid dreams of him fucking the English out of the witch in front of him, he was little more than a ball of stress and cum, wanting to blow one way or the other.

He reached for one of the pastries in front of him and began ripping it into tiny pieces, creating flakes of confetti with the dough.

Hermione sat and observed his anxious fiddling and the intense scowl darkening his features before she finally slapped the croissant out of his hands and back onto his plate.

“If you don’t stop shredding your food instead of eating it, _I’m_ going to play _Hogwarts Express_ with your tunnel!”

As soon as it was off her tongue, Hermione’s cheeks lit up.

A pale blond eyebrow arched high and a lopsided grin slowly replaced his bitter expression.

“Come again?”

She sputtered.

"T-to stop wasting food! I would feed you—oh, bugger it, leave me alone! You know what I meant you incorrigible—"

"Incorrigible twat. Yes, yes, I know." 

He dusted the rest of the crumbs from his hands onto his plate and leaned back, draping his arm over the back of his side of the booth and stretching his legs out beneath the table.

“So, have you found anything else useful from that book?"

Hermione was thankful for the subject change.

“Kind of? I feel like there’s something I’m missing.”

“Like why the hell you can read it and I can’t? Mysterious bit of magic there, innit?”

She shifted in her seat.

“Yes, well, that’s one thing…but with all that’s been happening, I think there’s something running deeper than what your ancestor’s have found out about it.”

“What do you mean ‘what’s been happening?’” Draco gestured between the two of them. “You mean between you and I?”

Hermione coughed and fidgeted again.

“Yes, that…and a…just a _couple_ of other things.”

Draco squinted at her from across the table, seeing how she’d began tugging at the corner of her lip. Hermione dared a quick glance up to him before her eyes darted away again and he bristled, sitting up and jabbing an accusatory finger in her direction.

“Fucking hell, Granger, you’ve been **_HIDING_ **something!”

 _“Shh!_ Keep your voice down!” she hissed and leaned in, addressing him in a harsh whisper, “I haven’t!”

 _“Bullshite!_ You’re a horrible liar.” Draco mirrored her movement, ridding much of the distance between them and examining her as though he’d be able to glean any more information that way. “What the hell happened?”

“Nothing!”

“Granger,” he growled, “if there’s something big you’ve been keeping from me, so help me—”

“There’s not!” It came out as a squeak, and then, “well, okay, there is something. But it’s not necessarily big…per se.”

 ** _“Hermione,”_** he snarled in warning, belatedly realizing how seldom he’d said her given name aloud and how foreign it felt on his tongue. "I won't be mad. Just… _tell me_ what you're talking about."

Hermione rubbed the back of her neck, fiddling with the chain of the lily pendant that hung around her neck as a way of distracting herself.

For her part, she knew she should’ve told him about the dreams she’d been having already. It just hadn’t seemed like a big deal.

At first, they were very vague and she could hardly remember anything about them upon waking anyway. For the past week or so, though—ever since she’d gotten the diary back from him—the dreams had become increasingly more vivid. And frequent. She’d been able to recall much more over the past few days, almost as clearly as watching a memory through a Pensieve.

"I... I’ve been having dreams. Visions maybe? I'm not sure exactly. Who knows? They could be nothing…but they started after I first started reading the journal. They hadn’t been anything of note at first but…” She paused, looking up at him and glancing away once more. The rest came out in a hurried expulsion of breath. _“I’vebeenlosingsleepandwakingupinthemiddleofthenight...”_

Draco’s shoulders had gone taut and his expression became something unreadable. Not quite cold…but masked.

“So…” He glanced around the immediate vicinity of their booth to make sure none of the staff was due to interrupt them before he continued, “what you’re basically telling me is that you were reading a cursed journal all this time, suffering its ill effects for—what? Weeks now? All while I’ve been dallying around, going on fucking _dates?”_

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by his snarl.

“Are you _FUCKING_ mad?!”

“It’s NOT—” She lowered her voice back down to a hissing whisper. “It’s **_NOT_ **cursed! We have NO conclusive evidence to start calling it ‘cursed!’”

Draco sputtered in disbelief.

“That book reeks of magic— _OLD_ magic! Granger, this is dangerous. THAT thing is dangerous and I want it back. NOW. Why the hell have you just been reading it all this time and didn’t tell me this was happening?! You think mentioning only in passing that this bloody tome is causing those huge black bags under your eyes is somehow okay?” 

Draco motioned violently to her barely concealed bruised skin lining the hollows beneath her eyes.

“I swear! I knew you were bonkers, but this takes the fucking cake!”

Hermione's hand lurched out before she could stop it with full intent on providing her lunch companion an open-handed slap across his cheek only to be stopped just as quickly by Draco's reflexes.

The hand that, moments ago, was fisted in outrage on the tabletop snapped up to clamp around her bare wrist just inches before she would have connected with his face. 

The moment their skin touched, a familiar electric buzz of energy hummed to life. It was the same energy they’d been caught in her first night at the Manor.

By their shared look of surprise, both of them felt it.

A sharp, spicy scent hit his nose and Draco’s nostrils flared. 

He knew her heady aroma. He’d dreamed about it far too much for in as few days as they’d been dealing with this together.

Her scent had power. It vibrated with it in a way that coiled itself into his muscles and bones, permeating all of his defenses and making him desire it like a warm massage over every inch of his body. The way it lingered between them, teasing, taunting, lithe like a serpent weaving its way to stroke along each of his senses, it begged him for his undivided attention.

Her scent had power and it called to him in the most primal of ways.

Draco found that his beast was ready—was _eager_ —to answer.

His growl rumbled out on the air separating them and he tugged her wrist closer, close enough that he could nuzzle her palm and scratch the skin with the coarse growth of days old stubble.

"It's cursed," he said, voice gruff and muffled by the hand now cupping his cheek.

Hermione gulped and couldn’t resist the small circular patterns her fingers traced over his skin.

"We can't call it that until we know—"

"I've been having dreams as well."

At the dark look he was giving her, Hermione’s imagination soared. 

"What of?” The words tumbled out on their own.

Draco nipped her wrist.

“This,” he said, nodding to the two of them. “Us…with less of these.” He tugged at the sleeve of her blouse.

Hermione swallowed, nodded, and reluctantly extracted her hand from his grasp.

“M-maybe it is then…but I think it’s more than that.” The lessening of contact with him did well to begin clearing her head. “The diary, I think it’s hers. The one who cursed your family to begin with. I think what I’m seeing when I sleep—these are _her_ memories.”

Draco worked on restraining himself from drawing her back to him. Voices…grunts and growls and urgings in the back of his mind to taste her cared very little for the details she was sharing with him. Draco, however, or at least the still human part of him, recognized this was more important.

“That would make some sense. She’s done an excellent job of covering her tracks considering nothing seems to exist in the time frame that would identify her or my ancestor. Right crafty bint—” He noticed the furrow to Hermione’s brow and stopped. “What?”

"I don't think it was intentional."

"What?” Draco bristled. “You're saying this was all a quaint little accident?"

His voice rose with the question and a tell-tale rumble of displeasure was beginning to leak out from his throat. Without thinking, Hermione took up one of his hands in both of hers. He glared but the growling soothed somewhat.

“No. Your family’s curse was definitely intentional. I’m talking about _us._ About the effects of the diary. I don’t think any of this was supposed to be how it worked. It’s difficult to tell because the entries just stop. Her last one was about their upcoming engagement party held at your family's Manor—the same one you still occupy. For someone that has been filling page after page with giddy nonsense about her wedding, to cut it all short up to their engagement party...it doesn't add up."

Draco made no move to shirk off her touch, but he still scoffed at what she had to say.

"Of course they stop. I hardly think she'd write all about this wretched curse with a play-by-play only to leave it here for the Malfoy family to entertain themselves with for generations."

"That's just _it!”_

Hermione let go of his hand to gesture along with her explanation. Draco felt the loss of her heat in a way that made it cumbersome to focus.

“Why was that journal even mixed in with the Malfoy belongings?” she asked. “This woman evidently kept it very close to her if the entries tell me anything. With something that personal she wouldn't just leave it with someone that’s likely to have hated her with such an intense passion for inflicting them with the curse to begin with. There's no reason that such a telling piece of history should be in _your_ family's possession."

He leaned his head back, squinting at her while the possibilities processed themselves through his head.

"So you think she left it here, charmed with...whatever it is it's charmed with, on purpose? Hate to break that to you, but that wouldn't exactly constitute as 'unintentional.'"

"No, it wouldn't, but remember what you'd told me before? About what the legend of the original curse bearer went through? The witch cursed him for his unfaithfulness and it was lifted once he committed to her and they were married, but it was only lifted from _him._ Their son was afflicted as well and was made to participate in an arranged marriage to break it."

"Right, right, right, what are you trying to get at here?"

Draco’s patience was wearing thin.

"What I'm GETTING at, is even with the variances we've found, the constant is that the witch always claimed ignorance at the persisting nature of the curse, even as she was driven from the Manor by the very husband that rescinded their vows. I don't think all the magic at work here was intentional and I think this may be like...like a beacon! If the writing is anything to go off of, she seemed like a sweet woman once, I don't think she'd mean to do something so malicious.

“Maybe something else happened that we aren't aware of. Malfoy, don't you see? We don't know her side of the story at all and for something to take root so deeply in the blood well...maybe this is somehow how she was asking for help! We need to find out who she was and most of all: what happened to her after this engagement party!"

Hermione reached for him again as if to plead her ploy to him but he jerked out of her reach, fixing her with a stern, serious expression instead.

"I know that look, Granger. DON'T touch that book again. You are about to incite forces you don't understand on a _hunch.”_

"I'm not!"

"Rubbish! You _are,_ and you have no idea what will happen. What if it kills me? What if it kills _you?_ Bad people don't like to be found. Don't bloody do it!"

Hermione tossed her arms up and if they hadn’t been seated, she would’ve been standing, hands on her hips while they jutted to one side as she glared.

"So WHAT if it kills me? Isn't that what you hired me on for? To solve your bloody problem however it need be accomplished?" 

It was her turn to shove her finger in his face. 

"If it weren't for the magic pulling us together, you'd be far less bothered by the risks and you know it! I am trying to solve your problem _and_ mine and now you're saying 'not to bloody do it?' I've got a good feeling about this, Malfoy, and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me!"

Draco sneered, that particular turn of his lips having been absent for quite some time during their past interactions. In a flash, he jerked Hermione forward across the table with a firm grip behind her head and planted his lips solidly over hers. 

Hermione’s eyes bugged but at the probing of his tongue, her lashes fluttered and she melted into the heat of his kiss.

That same buzz of energy flared to life when they touched…but it was different.

Where the kisses they’d shared before had been urgent, raw, and needy, nothing about this one spoke of magic or curses. There was only a flood of soft, languorous heat stretching into their limbs and nudging them closer.

Draco’s lips tugged and massaged at hers, reveling in the feel of her luxurious and silky skin working shyly to meet his. At one of her more eager kisses, he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, rolling the plump flesh between them and working the blood to the surface before finally, hesitantly letting it go with a low purr.

She shuddered out a breath.

“You’re wrong,” Draco murmured and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m asking you: don’t do it.”

Hermione felt him leaning in again and she closed her eyes, finding she wanted nothing more in that moment than to lose herself to Draco Malfoy’s mouth. She felt his heat growing ever nearer, so close, suffocating…and just like that he pulled away. It wasn’t as harsh as she’d come to expect from their decouplings to date but still, he moved with purpose, as though if he stayed a moment more he might not be able to leave.

Hermione watched him pull several cash notes from his billfold and place them on the table and with a hesitant, parting look, he was gone.

 _‘You’re wrong…’_ She thought about his words. Hermione looked after him, her fingers drifting to her swollen lips, her touch sending a tingle through to her toes. _‘About which part…’_

_She could save him._

_She knew she could._

_A voice in her head told her she could…_

Determined, Hermione gathered her belongings and prepared to return home…to do exactly what he’d asked her not to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not saying they finally have sex in the next chapter...
> 
> I'm just saying that there's probably some beast dong in the next chapter...
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	17. The Valentine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's just naaaasty. '-'

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Wednesday, February 14, 2001 – 5:00PM – Valentine's Day** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
_'This was ridiculous – just fucking loony.'_

Hermione stared at her reflection in her bathroom mirror and the outfit she managed to pull together for her evening of mandatory fun. 

The event was a formal, much to her displeasure, so she'd had to find an appropriate gown to wear that would fulfill her duties representing the Ministry and her department without giving certain…individuals inappropriate ideas. Unfortunately, due to her resistance and procrastination, she’d been left with few choices and ended up with something farther from her comfort zone than she would have ever chosen if left to her own devices.

What she ended up with was a dress of rich burgundy that hugged her curves in a way that managed to be flattering and elegant instead of the ‘cheap teen dance’ look she’d feared she’d be left with. The gown was strapless with a neckline framing her bosom in a thick band of silver and red stones and had the fabric gathering beneath her breasts as if offering them up on a sumptuous bejeweled platter. Those same colored stones peppered the dress throughout and the fabric of her skirt floated down and back, clinging to the swell of her hips and arse just enough to leave an impression.

With as much skin as the dress left her to bare, she’d tried many different attempts at hiding herself. Several of those involved trying to hide fully behind her hair. When it all turned out looking ridiculous, however, she gave up and gave in.

After a few hours of preparation, Hermione managed to tame her hair into smooth lengths of curls pinned at the back of her head. They draped down over her shoulders and tickled along the length of her bared back. She’d bothered only minimally with makeup: glossed lips, eyeshadow, blush—done; and only simple jewelry. Among those pieces of embellishment were a couple which had been magicked to hold a _Disillusionment_ charm that would conceal the old war scars on her exposed flesh, including the one carved into her arm and the still puckered teethmarks on her shoulder from Draco’s bite.

Hermione examined her reflection in the mirror of her bathroom and the woman that stared back at her was the picture of elegance and beauty.

She frowned.

She felt ridiculous.

"Bloody ridiculous," she echoed her thoughts aloud.

Hermione knew as sure as she was Muggle-born that part of the reason for her own mandatory attendance was the intention of parading her around in front of potential investors for some of the Ministry’s reforging and rebuilding events. More money funneling into the Ministry, the better for them all. And so there she was, in a stupid dress going to a stupid ball to give a stupid speech as their token war heroine—one-third of the Golden Trio—while Harry and Ron were off doing fuckall knows what.

She glared at the woman in red glaring back.

"Bloody. Fucking. Ridiculous."

  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**   
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-..-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**   
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**   
  


To say the ballroom was crowded would be a gross understatement. In addition to all the Ministry's attending employees and current investors, there were several invitations sent out to potential future investors and charity organizations with everyone dressed to the nines. 

It was posturing at its finest.

Hermione huffed in her corner, palms sweating from the anticipation of giving her speech later in the evening. She twirled the stem of a champagne flute between her thumb and forefinger, swishing the sharp tasting beverage around in nervous patterns.

"Oh, _excellent_ , pet!"

The twirling of her glass stopped abruptly and she was jolted out of her surprise by the drops of champagne that spattered onto her arm.

"Cormac,” she said through gritted teeth. “Fancy meeting you here." Hermione swiped the champagne from her arm and dried her hand on the draps behind her.  
McLaggen let out an appreciative noise, something between a grunt and a chuckle, toasting her with his own glass. 

"You look absolutely splendid, love. We're going to be all over the papers!"

"We?"

"Of course! Now, don't be shy, just look over there."

He leaned in suddenly, pressing a hand to her naked back while the other gestured out toward the crowd. She followed the motion with a turn of her head and heard a loud _POP,_ proceeding to be blinded by a brilliant bright white light that sent spots scrambling in her vision. Willing them away with rapid blinks, she shoved him from her as politely as she could muster in front of the growing number of eyes turning to face them.

“McLaggen, I thought I told you I wasn’t interested in being your date.”

Cormac snorted a laugh.

“You were _serious_ about that?”

He waved her statement away and resumed his position at her side with an arm around her shoulders.

“That’s alright, we just have to pose for some photos. Maybe you’ll change your mind by the end of the night.

"I don't think that—"

_"Hermione!"_ a voice called off to her side.

"Huh?"

_POP! Flash!_

She grunted when another photographer caught her off guard and brought those white spots racing back with fervor.

"Cormac, I'm just really not—"

_POP! POP! POP!_

She grated her teeth together now properly blinded. 

“I'm **_not_ **interested in posing, _especially_ for these gossipy tabloids! I'd really rather they didn't take photos of us together if it's all the same to you. I get enough attention as it is."

"Oh, it's just a bit of fun, love, nothing to worry about!" 

He ignored her increasingly less kind protests and took her by the shoulders to turn her for yet another photo of the two of them. After this one, however, his hand seemed to wander down the curve of her back to rest all too comfortably on her ass.

That was it. 

Hermione felt her skin heat in a rage that had been simmering just below the surface ever since the idiot stepped into her office harping on her about this blasted party in the first place. With a surprising amount of strength, the witch shoved Cormac— ** _hard_** —causing him to stumble back several paces before he reclaimed his balance.

"You…miserable… _LETCH!"_

Hermione stabbed her finger into his chest, her angry sentiment drawing enough attention that all the immediate surrounding attendees fell into a hushed silence at the outburst. 

"Day after bloody day you prance into my office, _HOUNDING_ me about the ball, and day after day I tell you 'no' as nicely as I can. Well that's it, McLaggen! Get it through your thick, cracked skull that I don't want you! I want nothing to do with you! Furthermore, I want you as far from me as physically possible in this world and the next! If you touch me again—if you so much as **_LOOK_ **at me in that obnoxious, idiotic way, I am going to take your wand and shove it so far up your arse, you'll be spitting sparks!"

A growing murmur of gossip unfolded before them both.

Red in the face, Cormac reached a hand toward Hermione as if to placate her, but the second his fingers touched her bare skin, a near-audible snap could be heard.

Her lovely glossed lips peeled away from her teeth.

One delicate sandaled foot planted forward, the other back, and the whole of her form exploded into motion.

Hermione’s beautiful body twisted, pushing the iron surety of the earth beneath her feet into the force behind her punch. 

Her arm pistoned forward, propelling her perfectly clenched fist full on into Cormac’s perfect jaw.

The sound of fist meeting face reverberated throughout the chamber, only partially drowned out by Cormac’s grunt of pain and the sharp gasp that swept through the crowd.

His body crumpled, half-sprawled and falling back into the group of witches and wizards that’d come around to see the show.

Hermione had barely enough thought to storm off and away—to be anywhere but there.

Among those in the audience were several of the potential investors, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and a freshly arrived Draco Malfoy.

As Draco could attest, that was a real punch from Hermione Granger.

  
_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Wednesday, February 14, 2001 – 6:00PM – Valentine's Day** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _   
  


"Shite." 

Hermione rubbed at her face for the billionth time. 

"Shite. Fucking bollocks, piss, and SHITE." 

She grumbled repeatedly to herself, leaning forward in her purloined banquet chair, head in her hands, and a serving tray of empty champagne flutes on the table at her side. 

"So long to my fucking career…"

_"Language,_ Granger. _Tsk tsk tsk_...first you haul off on McLaggen – which, looks MUCH more amusing when you're not on the receiving end of it, by the way – now you're cursing like a sailor. What ever are we going to do with you?"

Her head snapped up at the familiar voice cutting through the previous silence of the small meeting room. 

"Draco! What are you doing here?"

Draco's head tilted slightly to one side at the use of his first name. It had been a little while since he'd heard the non-dream Hermione say it and he found he quite liked the way it sounded on her lips. 

"Guest speaker," he replied sardonically with an over dramatic bow that made his perfectly tailored dress robes billow around him.

Hermione got to her feet, wobbling at the sudden movement, partly due to her still unfamiliar heeled shoes and perhaps a larger part being the four empty champagne glasses sitting on the discarded tray behind her. Draco was there in an instant, steadying her before she planted her face onto the tiled floor. Her hands gripped at his robes until she finally reestablished her balance with his help and she found his face startlingly close.

Daintily smoothing the lines of his robes back into order, she couldn't help her blurry-eyed blinks at his face. 

"I thought you told me you weren't coming. What about the..." She looked around to make sure they were alone and no one else had sneaked in to the room. _"The curse?"_

Draco swept his eyes over her magnificently dressed figure with an unadulterated, appreciative hum, urging her closer with where his hands rested at her waist.

After seeing her lay out Cormac so brutally, a very primal part of him bid him to seek her out.

_She’d done so well, his female…she was perfect._

"I just came to give the speech and go. The Minister wouldn't let me out of attending, even made reference to 'reevaluating' certain permissions to the Malfoy vaults for funding if I refused. Something about investors and other nonsense being a big deal. I told him I wouldn't be able to attend late in the evening so he shifted the schedule a bit and got me an earlier spot on the podium. Whatever is going on behind the scenes here must be important if someone like Shacklebolt was issuing petty threats."

Hermione’s eyes went wide, more focused on this news than the way his fingertips toyed at her hipbones.

"Kingsley said that? Are you sure you heard him right, Malfoy? He wouldn't…"

"He did." Draco drew her into a light sway with far less reluctance from the witch than he anticipated. He moved them along to the soft music floating in from the main hall, abruptly changing the subject. "And you're welcome, by the way."

"For what?" Hermione leaned into the dance, draping her arms over his shoulders and shooting him a wary look.

"I diffused the mess you left in your wake. I'd still expect to see some…interesting articles in tomorrow's Prophet, but I spoke with the Minister about some things and you needn’t worry about being unemployed in the morning."

Hermione perked up at that, decidedly more sober at the news that she hadn’t decimated her career.

"How in Merlin's name did you accomplish _that?"_

"I'll tell you later…" 

Draco leaned in to brush his lips over the shell of her ear and whispered, "More importantly, has anyone aside from that twat McLaggen told you that you look absolutely breathtaking? I saw you and nearly missed the satisfaction of seeing the idiot hit the floor because you're so fucking distracting...bloody gorgeous..." 

Dotting kisses on her neck behind her earlobe, he nuzzled at the spot that smelled so strongly of the scent so uniquely hers. His pleased growl vibrated against her skin.

Hermione gasped and goosebumps prickled to life on her arms.

“Malfoy,” she breathed and halfheartedly nudged him away to catch his stare finding it dark and hungry and so very enticing.

She swallowed around a thick lump in her throat, having momentarily forgotten what she’d been about to say.

_“Draco,”_ he corrected and leaned in once more, halted from his desired licking and nibbling at the join of her neck and shoulder only thanks to the two small hands splayed on his chest.

Hermione’s head felt foggy with him this close. At first she’d thought it might be the alcohol but when thoughts of his mouth and teeth and tongue on her body cut through that haze, she realized what it was.

“Draco,” she said, voice soft in a weak, attempted warning. “W-we can’t…”

He rumbled and nuzzled her nose with his, urging her back into a rhythmic sway that was leading them ever closer to the back of the room, closer towards some empty tables where they butted up against the walls.

“Are you drunk?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head, her curls tickling his knuckles of the hand on her back.

“Do you _want_ to?” Draco pulled back enough to see her face clearly. Her hands wadded into his dress robes as he moved away, urging him not to go far.

She swallowed again and bit the corner of her bottom lip, worrying at the gloss-covered lip between her teeth without ever breaking contact with his stare.

Draco barely resisted diving back in and nibbling it for her.

_“Yes,”_ Hermione said and as soon as she did, they were moving.

The backs of her thighs hit the edge of a table and Hermione gasped when Draco lifted her and plopped her onto its top. She let out a surprised yelp when he boldly flipped the front hem of her dress up so he could nestle himself between her thighs. Hermione groaned at the feel of him, hard and hot on the other side of his trousers, only a scant few layers of fabric keeping her from the rest.

“The sun’s already gone down,” she said on the end of a soft moan.

Draco cupped the back of her neck and yanked her to him, swallowing down the sounds. They tasted like nectar. He stroked her tongue with his, earning more of her moans that sent the hair on his skin prickling to attention and urging more of his blood pumping in the direction of his cock. Only once he’d used up all the air in his lungs did Draco wrench his mouth from hers.

Panting, with sharp canines peeking out from behind the curl of his lips, Draco murmured, “I’ve still got some time.”

That statement was a farce and they both new it.

Hermione’s hands groped at the fabric at his shoulders. Her blood ran hot in her veins. Even with all the skin her dress left exposed to the elements, she was overheated. She could hear the pulsing beat of her heart in her ears—she felt it between her thighs, felt _him._

_Want him._

She’d wanted him for days.

And, as she saw the telltale points of his teeth growing sharper as the seconds ticked by and witnessed the unearthly gleam of silver taking root in his eyes, she found that she couldn’t give a damn that the sun had gone down or what that meant.

Hermione wanted him and, for now, that was enough.

“Fuck me,” she said, right before yanking Draco to her by the lapels.

The familiar buzzing energy ignited between them like an inferno.

She felt him snarling into her mouth then, attacking her lips with tooth and tongue. Hermione grunted when he pulled her forward again to the very edge of the table so he could grind against her, feeling her excitement pool at her core, soaking the thin garment still covering her. 

His cock burned with a scorching heat that she wanted to feel on her bare skin, in her hand, _inside her._ She wanted him to bury himself balls deep so she could feel every hard, aching inch of him. She wanted to wrap her muscles around him and squeeze until his eyes rolled back and he roared.

_He was her mate and she wanted him._

The very air around them crackled and sparked.

Draco left her mouth again panting, drawing in rapid, shallow breaths and any rational sense he may have had left in him fled with the redirection of his blood flow. 

His hands fumbled behind her for the tiny zipper pull to set her free.

_Free his female._

_Please her._

**_Fuck her._ **

Growling in frustration when he couldn’t get the zip to work, Draco tore her dress’ neckline down to expose her breasts. Dusky pink nipples perked at the sudden chill, inviting him in for a taste. Swooping in with a deep-seated hunger, Draco closed his mouth over a pebbled nipple, rolling it between his teeth and teasing it with his tongue. An exciting array of new sounds choked out of her with each tug of his mouth.

"Draco!" she moaned when the sharp points of teeth pinched her skin, every prick of his fangs sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her pussy.

Before she even knew what she was doing, her hips were moving, rolling with a rhythmic ease to meet his teasing but firm thrusts against her. Hermione’s head lolled back to thump against the wall, lost in the sensation of his mouth and hands playing with her breasts. 

Eager to devour more of those delectable noises, Draco returned to her mouth, humming with pleasure at the combination of her taste combined with hints of champagne. One of his hands moved to her calf, massaging it before trailing up to her knee, then the outside of her thigh, finally sliding to the inside so he could trace a finger along her slit through her slick-dampened knickers.

Hermione whimpered into his kiss, her fingers curling around his neck and tugging him ever closer with her nails digging into his thickening hide.

Draco groaned into her mouth, feeling his teeth shifting to larger, sharper versions of themselves. He tried to pull away and was met with a threatening but human-sounding snarl from the small woman before him. She followed his lips as he tried to escape and guided his stroking knuckle in tight, rhythmic circles around her cloth-covered clit.

_She was so wet for him— **all** for him._

_He needed to please his mate._

Draco finally succeeded in pulling his mouth from hers with a wet _smack._ She had time enough only to shoot him a dangerous look, attempting to pull him back, before he dipped out of her reach in favor of a new target. One moment he had her pinned atop a table and against a wall, the next he’d dipped his head down to bury his face between her thighs.

With a deep, reverberating growl, he inhaled the scent of her sex, the smell of her so strong and intoxicating. He decided then that he never wanted to leave.

Hermione made to say something coherent, she was sure of it, but all that came out was a strangled cry of pleasure when his mouth latched onto her clit through her knickers. 

His spit soaked through the cotton and the sensation of his roughening tongue dragging long, ragged strokes over her sensitive bud tore an unintelligible noise from her throat—something partway between immense pleasure and monumental frustration. She thrust her hands into his hair, gripping strands that were growing coarse and coppery by the moment.

Perhaps if she’d been less dazed by pleasure, Hermione would have noticed the clawed hands now cupping her rear, the darkening hair of her male companion, or even the horns cracking and growing into existence from his temples. 

Alas, she was not.

Each of her long legs was draped over one of his shoulders as she ground her mound unapologetically into his growing muzzle. His horns, now massive and curling from his head, became convenient handholds for her to use to urge him closer. Her hips moved of their own accord, meeting each of his licks with a firm grind against his tongue.

Hermione felt the wave of pleasure building in her chest, her belly, _her cunt._

It was a slow tingle that trembled in her very core, building, intensifying, making the muscles twitch and flutter with signs of her impending climax.

She was close— _gods she was so close._

All of a sudden, the wet warmth of his mouth left her. A cry of protest tore from her lips but before she could properly mourn his loss, a ripping sound filled the room, her hips jerked with the noise, and at once the cool air hit her soaked pussy lips just before Draco’s mouth returned—a million times hotter and wetter than before.

Hermione keened.

With no barrier between them any longer, Draco buried his face against her, spreading her lips with his muzzle and using his tongue to lap and tease and circle her sweet, swollen clit until she was arching off the table and clawing at the fur of his hunched back and wood beneath her.

Hermione’s orgasm washed over her, the slick of her cum flooding from between her legs with every pulse and contraction of her muscles to soak into the freshly grown fur covering Draco’s chin. Her guttural moan shuddered through her, echoing in the small room, and her hips wriggled and bucked as he growled and snarled and lapped up her juices, drinking deeply and hungrily the taste of **_her._** Her chest was still heaving by the time he finished tasting her and allowed her to pull his head from between her thighs.

Draco took in her flushed state, the scent of her still thick in his nose and heavy on his tongue as he tugged her hips closer, rubbing his barely restrained cock along her slit. He saw her eyes finally open and they were flecked with glittering shades of gold. Hermione’s gaze darted over him and only then did he realize that the change had overtaken him completely.

None of the usual agony accompanying it had been present this time or, if it had been, he hadn’t noticed. He tried to think beyond Hermione’s musky fragrance fogging his brain, tried to label this detail as _‘important.’_ When he felt Hermione’s hands fumbling at what remained of the trousers he’d transformed in, he failed to do so.

_‘Mate— **MINE.’**_ The words kept repeating in Hermione’s head, over and over, and she was sure it should’ve sounded strange, but it didn’t.

Her mate was trying to restrain himself for some reason she couldn’t puzzle out in her post-orgasmic brain.

He smelled of her, of her sex—it was her claim. 

_He was **hers.**_

He could make this heat stop—he could make it go away.

_So hot—skin, so hot—_

_He could fix this—_

A voice in her head told her so.

Hermione narrowed her eyes when he started to move away and clawed at his dressy lapels to jerk him to her once again. Whatever resistance he’d been entertaining dissolved when she kissed him, sliding her tongue along his muzzle to taste herself still dripping from his lips.

Draco’s growl vibrated through the both of them and he hefted her off the table and into his arms. Her legs clamped around him and her hands snaked between them to tear at the remnants of his trousers. 

She nearly had them undone when the sound of an angry shout boomed from behind them.

**_“DEPULSO!”_ **

A sudden wave of pressure rammed into them, thrusting them both towards the far wall of the room.

Draco was barely able to turn them in time to take the brunt of the impact, knocking the air from his lungs and denting the plaster.

Dazed, Hermione had no time to get her bearings before the owner of the shouted cast snagged her wrist and tore her away from the protective cradle of Draco’s embrace.

Hermione cried in protest and she wasn’t entirely sure they were words. She found herself flung behind someone, torn farther still from her mate. She stumbled over her dress shoes several steps, tripping over herself until she collapsed again near her previously discarded belongings. Hermione unceremoniously knocked and smashed the empty champagne glasses from before off their perch on her way down, shards of glass redecorating her palms.

Glaring sharply at the intruder who was now dead set on keeping her from her mate, Hermione snarled. It took several seconds for her mind to catch up to her instincts and when they did, her snarl grew even more ferocious.

_"Cormac!_ What the **_fuck_ **do you think you’re doing?!"

The sandy-haired wizard kept his eyes on the monster who was now shaking himself straight, trying to extract his body from the beast-sized crater he created in the wall. 

"Don't move! I won't hesitate!” Cormac shouted, his wand thrust out and aimed at the beast.

The wizard redirected his shout back over his shoulder and to Hermione who, by now, had covered her breasts back up and flipped the bottom of her dress back down.

“Hermione, are you alright? Did this thing hurt you? I heard you—you sounded like you were in pain. Also—how did it even get in here…and what is it _wearing?”_

From her spot on her hands and knees, Hermione gaped.

This man…was the **_largest_ **pain in her arse she’d ever had the miserable misfortune to encounter aside from Lord Voldemort himself.

Cormac had his head half-turned from speaking to her and she could see the purpling splotches already spreading over his cheekbone and down the length of his jaw where she’d slugged him. She’d been sure she’d made her point perfectly clear and yet, here he was.

The noise that trickled from her throat was purely feral.

“McLaggen,” she growled, “If you don’t leave **_NOW,_** so help me—”

Cormac shifted his full attention to her for just a second, eyes wide at the noise that came out of her.

A second was long enough.

A blur of tattered black robes and reddish fur slammed into him like a ton of bricks and Cormac quickly found himself face-to-face with a yawning maw of massive fangs.

“BLOODY HELL!!” Cormac shrieked, backpedaling from the beast’s snapping jaws and glittering silver eyes as though his life depended on it.

It did.

Scrambling to her clutch, Hermione retrieved her wand, whipping it violently from her bag. Glass shards shook off her palm, beads of her blood pooling on the surface, slicking and sticking to her wand. With a harsh swish and flick to the room’s double doors, she closed, locked, and silenced the space.

Once secured, Hermione went up onto her knees, making short work of the remaining pieces of glass in her hands while observing the huge, broad-shouldered mass of Draco’s beastly form towering over a ghost-white Cormac. 

Draco’s once perfectly fitted robes were ripped and torn between his transformation and his collision with the building, freeing the pronounced haunch of his back, his thick mane prickled upright in warning. His black lips curled back off a full set of razor sharp fangs that were easily the length of her finger and his ears flattened against the sides of his head. One huge paw wrapped tightly around Cormac’s neck, hovering over the other wizard, using his own massive body as a huge slab of threatening, coiled muscle ready to snap the man in half at a moment’s notice.

And it was all for her.

_Her mate was perfect._

_“Draco,”_ she rasped, the trash forgotten in favor of the overwhelming heat building in her chest and telling her he was all that mattered.

Draco’s head snapped in the direction of her voice.

His ears flicked forward and he caught the scent of her on the air between them, responding with a predatory growl and a lick of his lips.

Tossing Cormac aside, he stalked to her on all fours, right into her waiting arms.

_“Hermione…”_

The thrill of the husky rumble sent a shiver through her, her glossy golden gaze darkening for him again with no regards to the other man still in the room. Hermione's arms came up to circle his thick furred neck, paying no heed to the blood she smeared over his coat or the way hers clung to the few cuts opened in his hide from slamming into the wall — it only made him more hers anyway…

Hermione leaned in, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth when she felt one of his hands scoop under her rear and begin shifting her under him. The hiss to her right ripped her from their near coupling – again – and she barely got her wand arm up in time to block the brunt of the severing charm aimed their way.

The metallic tang in his nose startled Draco away from his witch and his eyes immediately locked onto the red line of blood blooming on the skin of her forearm. The sound that came out of him was as monstrous as he looked. 

Draco tucked Hermione beneath him, hiding her behind the thick bands of his arms and beneath the protective cover of his barreled chest. He felt every hair on his body stand on end, his entire frame shaking in a threatening rage at the danger to his female. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Cormac had picked himself up and stood, fuming with his wand outstretched. The menace in his glare was just as much for Hermione now as the brutish form of Draco. _“Malfoy?!”_

Draco snapped his jaws with a loud, resonant clack.

"It is really you, then.” McLaggen's normally haughty tone was all but gone. “I certainly wouldn't have recognized you on my own. Not sure what exactly happened to you but I'd almost say it's an improvement!" 

Cormac sneered, creeping closer to the pair and sparing a glance to Hermione who was cradling her arm and putting pressure on the injury he’d inflicted.

"This? _This_ is what you turn me down for? This grotesque heap of—of _fur_ and _fangs?!_ You could have me but instead you go to _this_ monster to get your rocks off?” Cormac’s expression twisted into one of disgust. 

“There’s only one monster in this room, McLaggen, and I’m looking at him!” Hermione snapped, staring straight through him.

His face darkened and his wand swept in an arc to fling another hex their way but Hermione slashed hers at him before he got the chance.

_“Depulso!”_ she shouted, echoing his earlier spell. It was a sloppy flourish that sent pain shooting through her arm but even then, it was strong enough to send Cormac flying.

McLaggen hit the wall at his back, his head slamming hard into the surface, and he crumpled into a heap.

Draco stalked to Cormac’s motionless form, all the while making sure he was the largest, most solid object between the man’s prone figure and Hermione. Once he reached him, he nudged the wizard onto his back without care, just enough to make sure his chest rose and fell in time with the sound of breathing and a heartbeat.

"He's alive," Draco huffed, disappointed.

Shakily regaining her footing at last, Hermione examined her arm before anything else. It was a shallow enough cut in the greater scheme of things, nothing that couldn’t be helped along with a potion.

“Pity,” her reply was cold.

Crunching over shattered glass and crumbled plaster to stand over Cormac, Hermione peered down at him with irises nearly overtaken by molten gold.

“Here’s for old time’s sake, _‘pet.’”_

She aimed her wand squarely at his head and hissed, _“Confundo.”_

  
  
_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Wednesday, February 14, 2001 – 7:30PM – Valentine's Day** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
Hermione hurried Draco into her flat through the front door, having transfigured his robes into something with a hood to try and hide him as much as possible when she apparated them to the alley around the corner from her apartment building.

Once they were in, she locked everything manually and magically for extra precaution and made sure her fireplace was shut off from the network.

"I'm sorry about all the trouble, Malfoy, I had no ide— ** _AH!"_**

Her apology was interrupted mid-thought when Draco hefted her up over his shoulder to carry her to what he could only guess was the bedroom, depositing her onto her mattress immediately.

“No more interruptions,” he snarled.

Hermione had mere seconds to blink before he was on her again as though they’d never been disturbed in the first place.

On a normal day, she might have protested the abruptness of it all but today, with her old schoolmate-turned-beast firmly thrust between her legs with his muzzle working as best it could at devouring her kisses, she just groaned.

Draco raked his claws down her sides, shredding her gown and leaving raised welts in their wake that made her writhe and moan. Hermione worked just as quickly to help him out of the remnants of his clothing by way of violently ripping them off.

Released from the stifling fabric, Draco’s cock bobbed between them. 

This moment was different than in his fantasies where she paid no real mind to his changed anatomy. If possible, it was better.

The second his ruddy, pointed cock slapped against her thigh, Hermione cooed and her hand groped for him.

Her fingers burned impatient lines up and down his shaft as she toyed and explored and teased. They trailed over him, stroking from base to tip and back again, lingering at the rapidly swelling bulge there. Her curious touches were maddening and, as sweet as her lips were, Draco needed her cunt.

In a single swift movement, he flipped her over, her surprised gasp making his balls clench. He bent her over the side of her bed, her still-sandaled feet positioning her at just the right height. Hermione wriggled her hips and he dug his claws into her hipbones firmly, nestling his heavy length to where it bumped and dragged along the slickness of her lips. His eyes rolled back at the shameless way she pressed back into him, moaning and clawing at the bed linens.

_Perfect little mate—_

He rocked back, lining the point of his cock up with her soaking entrance and in one single, solitary motion, he sank into her, filling her absolutely to the brim.

Hermione howled his name, the walls of her pussy clenching in opposition to the intrusion and drawing him in all at once. She whipped her hair back over her shoulders, groaning and panting as her innermost muscles adjusted to the thickness of him.

_“Fuck,”_ she hissed. Hermione balled her hands into the sheets and, with muscles still spasming, she cracked her eyes open to slits and snarled at him over her shoulder.

_“More!”_

A feral sound ripped from Draco’s chest when her walls clamped down and she rolled her hips, tugging at his length and ordering him to move. Matching her snarl, he dragged his sharp blackened nails over her arse, letting the dark calloused pads rove over the firmness of it and delighting in the way it made her shiver and flutter around his shaft.

He traced more and more pink welted lines into her flesh, her muscles clenching progressively harder around him as he did until he raked a paw up her pale back and fisted it in her hair. He jerked her upright and nearly choked at the way she grew even tighter around his cock.

Draco growled into her hair, his tongue darting out to tickle the inner shell of her ear.

**_“MINE.”_ **

It was the last coherent word spoken between the two before he started driving into her relentlessly from behind.

Hermione wound an arm up and back to grip one of his horns, pulling him to her and keeping his fanged maw fastened as closely to hers as she could when his frantic thrusts weren’t tearing more moans from her chest.

_She’d waited for this—by Merlin she’d waited for this, for far too many days._

With every thrust he filled her, the underside of his cock teasing along a sweet spot on her front wall that sent flashes of heat arcing across her skin again and again and again. It built in a swiftly budding tremble that started in her shoulders and raced down her spine, spreading all the way to her toes.

Hermione pushed back against him rowdily, her smooth skin sliding between the frame of his thighs and she felt his coarse fur growing matted with her sweat and slick. 

She felt his blood pounding through his cock, felt every rushing pulse, every twitch pushing her closer to her release.

She felt his tongue in her mouth, his frenzied kisses and bites, massive teeth piercing the plump flesh of her lip only to rake down over her neck and shoulder.

She nearly cried when she felt him reposition them, lifting one of her legs higher so that her knee pressed tighter to her chest, opening her to him.

She did cry out when she felt the base of him, larger than before, growing larger still, butting up against her opening with his every ragged thrust, almost catching every time.

Draco kept bucking up into her, his movements growing sloppier and more frantic the closer he came to sinking into her entirely.

Hermione keened into his kiss, if it could even be called that anymore, as Draco’s haphazard thrusts kept pulling their mouths apart until they could do little else than pant on the same shared breath.

She chased him as she’d done before, chased his kiss and the feel of his knot stroking that so sensitive sweet spot that his cock could only brush.

Her core was scorching and she needed just—a little— ** _more._**

With one firm, mighty rock of her hips, Hermione slid onto him— ** _all_ **of him—taking his knot fully and sending her over the edge.

**_“Draco—!”_**

Hermione clamped down around him, her muscles spasming as the bulging base of him pressed hard against that spot. Her walls tightened, fluttering along Draco’s shaft with the fierce intent of dragging him down with her.

She massaged and milked at his shaft, the muscles coaxing every uncontrolled jerk of movement from his hips they could stand. The sensation of her squeezing him in a wave from base to tip—of every harsh tug from her opening tightening around his knot—it was too much.

With a roar, Draco tore away from her frantic kisses and sank his teeth into her shoulder once more, anchoring her in place as he thrust towards her womb and came. Spilling string after string of his cum inside her, he marked her, feeling the sharp bite of her nails piercing the hide of his arm as he did.

The euphoric scream that ripped through Hermione shook the walls of her flat as she rode out her orgasm atop his cock, each twitchy buck of her hips triggering another full body shudder whenever his knot ground against the sensitive nerves near her entrance.

The heated, buzzing energy that always surrounded them when they were together gathered sharply, flashing and sparking in arcs from their entwined bodies to explode nearby electronics with deafening shatters and pops. 

Small tendrils of white lightning arced between them, destroying every light nearby and plunging them into darkness.

The pair of them collapsed forward onto the mattress with Draco catching himself just before crushing Hermione under his weight.

Draco kept her hips pinned, but removed his teeth from her shoulder, growling in warning whenever she would writhe or move.

Hermione growled back.

He twitched inside her and she shivered, growing excited at the prospect for more even as he continued to still spill his seed.

Hermione turned her head toward him, finding his face in the darkness and ghosting the tip of her nose over his muzzle. A sound, something akin to a throaty purr, escaped her at the affectionate nuzzle she received in return.

She kissed him then, the hand she’d had buried in the fur of his arm bloodied from a mixture of her cuts and his, moved to brush over the side of his muzzle as she did.

Draco paused only long enough from their kiss to lick the sticky slick of blood from her hand before resuming.

Hermione tasted herself on him...and it tasted _right._

He began to move within her again.

She laid claim to him once more.

_Their blood mingled._

_And they were lost._   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \o/


	18. The True Beast

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _  
_**Thursday, February 15, 2001 – 5:00AM** _  
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
_"You’re mad!"_

_Belle pushed to her hands and knees, blood dripping from her busted lip._

_Droplets of her blood hit the rose pendant hanging from her neck._

_It was all she could hear beyond the rushing heartbeat in her ears._

_She clenched her hands to fists, feeling the bite of her fingernails into her palms._

_Her chest heaved with exhaustion from her duel with her fiancé._

_He pointed his wand at her wearily, his pearly white sneer a stark contrast to the smears of blood and soot covering him. He circled her and his eyes never left her trembling form where she hunched in the center of the burning room._

_His opposite hand clenched around the vine wood wand of his wife-to-be as though it were his lifeline._

_“I’m afraid we’ll be calling off the wedding, love,” he said. “A Malfoy can’t be seen with the criminally insane, after all.”_

_Flames burned around them, devouring the expensive drapes of their future home. The fire licked at the windows and walls and ceiling. It engulfed the remnants of their furniture, turning the decadent wood into little else than kindling._

_It was only a matter of time before the manor would come down…and the pair of them with it._

_Belle’s fiancé kept his eyes latched onto her petite figure while edging his way out of the room, backing towards the only clear path through the flames._

_She shook—she shook with sadness, with anger, hatred, longing…love; Belle’s body trembled with the task of containing it all._

_She loved this man, despite his transgressions._

_She loved him…and that love consumed her—destroyed her._

_Her obsession had blinded her and where did that leave her?_

_Burning—burning in her own hell with the man she gave her heart to ready to watch her burn…ready to leave her there._

_Her blood dripped from her wounds._

_It hit the stone, seeping into the very foundation beneath her feet._

_Her blood sizzled and burned._

_Nearing the edge of the flames and of freedom, the man paused only to raise his wand._

_“Sorry, love. Can’t have you following me out.”_

_His wand flourished and Belle heard the movement of something large, grinding against the floor for just a moment before it was lifted. Crackles and pops louder than the others around her echoed in her ears from the flames eating the lacquer from a cabinet, its precious contents spilling and shattering to pieces as her fiancé levitated it forward._

_A hissed whisper left his lips and it came tearing towards her, the sound of her impending demise ringing like a bell of clarity in her mind._

_‘How could he…?’_

_‘How dare he…’_

_‘…how DARE he.’_

_‘HOW **DARE** HE!’_

_A familiar, trembling rage poured into every inch of her slim, shaking body. It spilled over and flooded her vision with red._

_Belle snarled from her spot on the floor and turned, wandless, with hands curled like talons to swipe at the flaming cabinet barreling at her like a charging bull. Without her wand, her magic was messy and unfocused. With the vengeful fury coursing through her veins, it didn’t matter._

**_"EXPULSO!"_ **

_The room was overtaken by a brilliant blue light, overshadowing the orange of the flames around them. The cabinet burst into thousands of pieces at her roar, exploding shards of flaming wood in all directions and sending her fiancé soaring into the nearest wall with a loud crack that could only have been his ribs._

_His vision blurred and he choked on blood and what smoke hadn’t taken to pouring out of the freshly shattered windows._

_He heard Belle’s harsh voice cut through him._

_The flames around him shuddered and transformed as they were enveloped in a cold, blue light which doused everything inside in an eerie, ethereal glow. The air grew cooler and the flames ceased their plight of ripping apart the manor, instead spreading an even, almost cozy warmth from every section of the room they touched. What remained of the smoke was swept forcefully through the broken windows with a sharp sweep of her arm._

_He struggled to sit upright, his chest burning—whether from the pain or the fire, he didn’t know. A frantic glance forward made his stomach drop in fear._

_In her nightgown, once white and now blackened and shredded from soot and spell, Belle approached. Her arms and legs were smudged by ash and blood, skin peeling and blistered where the fire had reached beyond her protective spells. In her wand hand, the familiar vine wood rested once more, having been procured between his cornering of her and her rage ignited._

_The air hummed with her magic and it was a tangible thing, roiling off her skin and sparking between them like lightning. Her hair danced in the throes of her magic, whipping like angry serpents and framing the liquid gold fury of the eyes drilling into him. Those eyes screamed for vengeance and she, the embodiment of an infernal goddess come from the Nether to punish him for his life of misdeeds._

_"Incarcerous!" Belle hissed._

_Golden ropes spewed from her wand and coiled around his prone form, constricting and biting into his skin until he was screaming in pain. With a snarl, she jerked her arm and the ropes wrapped around one of the ceiling beams that remained, hoisting him up before her. Padding towards him slowly, methodically, her bare, blistered feet crunched through broken glass and hot charred wood, cutting and searing flesh and leaving a trail of blood with each step. Born only of rage and vengeance, she never seemed to notice the other pain._

_“I **loved** you, Rhydderch,” she said in a low growl, the ropes binding Rhydderch tightening their hold. “I LOVED you and yet you somehow deem me unworthy of you…you choose to entertain these—these **WHORES** instead. I would give you my love for eternity, give you a family, give you something to be proud of!…but that’s not enough for you, is it?”_

_“Belle,” Rhydderch wheezed. “My Rose—my love, I—ACHH!”_

_Another rope snapped to life and coiled around his throat, constricting until his tongue began to bloat and his eyes bulged._

_“I AM NOT FINISHED SPEAKING!”_

_She took a deep breath, willing herself calm though the trembling of her shoulders refused to heed such a call. Turning to him, her face fell, her busted lip shaking and with barely restrained desperation, she pleaded._

_“Why—WHY don’t you love me, Rhydderch? I’ve been faithful. I’ve been kind. I’ve given you all that you’ve asked of me and more—so, WHY?”_

_Struggling against his bonds, half frantic and half furious, Rhydderch choked out the worst answer he could offer._

_“Because you’re a bloody crazy witch!”_

_Any softness that’d managed to seep into her drained away to be replaced with her renewed, violent fury._

_Belle’s roar of anguish reverberated through the corridors as she sliced her wand through the air and severed the ropes suspending him before her. Rhydderch collapsed to the ground with a pained grunt but was granted no reprieve as another spell smashed into him, pressing him into the floor as though it were a grape press and he was the grape._

_“Fine, then…you do not want me? You prefer the slags you entertain each night? **FINE, THEN.** Allow me to grant you a favor,” Belle growled, flourishing her wand with her bloodied grip, flipping him onto his back. “Perhaps if you are so eager to rut with every bitch who wafts the smell of her quim in your nose, then you should look like the beast you are!”_

_Rhydderch’s eyes widened, not knowing truly what her plans entailed but knowing no good could come of the threat. He backpedaled immediately._

_"B-Belle, pl-ea-s-" he choked out, the weight of her spell pressing harder the more he protested._

_Belle ignored his pleas, relinquishing some of her spell’s hold only after hearing another resounding crack of his ribs._

_"No. We shall see what the bitches you so desire think when you are as hideous outside as you are in. Let us see who you are left with then!"_

_His lips moved to try and protest but before he could, she thrust her wand at him again. Her maniacal eyes shone with her revenge and a dark, dark curse fell from her swollen lips. Dark tendrils of magic coiled down her arm, bled into the floor, the walls—everything. It lashed out and latched onto his form like leeches, sucking away at his humanity intent on devouring it whole._

_Rhydderch’s screams filled the manor as his back bowed off the floor. His previously cracked bones mended—painfully—thickening and reforming into something distinctly inhuman. Thick black nails burst from his fingers and toes, curling into menacing claws while his insides ground against each other until they were satisfied with their new placement. His form grew and stretched into something twice as large as it was before, his chest barreled, back hunched, and legs that were thickly muscled twisted into something more wolf than man._

_Rhydderch scrabbled at the stone, claws gouging hash marks into it as the pain rocketed through him. His skull shattered and mended, forming something more akin to a bison bull than a Malfoy man. Curled horns burst through his thickened hide and his ears stretched, flitting back and forth at the sounds of his own screams until they, too, turned into bellows falling from a muzzle that was distinctly inhuman. Coarse copper fur flooded into place over his skin, thick lines of it adorning his spine and chest, creating the perfect picture of a menacing, ghastly-looking beast._

_Belle circled the beast, her wand at her side as she eyed her fiancé and appraised her work._

_“Don’t worry, darling…I am sure that your beautiful whores will see past this—” She motioned at him from horn to toe. “—and give you the tender love required to free you from this prison.”_

_Groggily, Rhydderch tried to rise, testing his new body’s limbs, stumbling more than standing._

_“You…BITCH!” he snarled._

_Rhydderch bared teeth and claws but with nary a flinch, Belle snapped her arm up and sent him soaring through the charred settee and into a heap of splintered wood. She followed his path, crunching through the remnants of the once beautiful home and stood over him. She looked down on his much larger form with a coldness that replaced the rage in her eyes only moments before. Belle raised her wand and the pressure from before came back, squeezing him into the stone._

_"You...were promised to me. You belong to me. The sooner you realize this, the sooner we will be able to be happy."_

_He struggled against the force of her magic and it only made her lash it at him again. Belle sneered at him then, a look any Malfoy would be envious of._

_"I will allow you your fun. Go. Fuck your bitches if they will have you now. Get it out of your system because I expect you to take your vows."_

_She moved to the side of his frozen body, kneeling by his head to stroke dainty fingers through the mass of fur on his face._

_"You can have until your next birthday. If we’ve not been wed by sunset, then you shall remain this way. Forever."_

_Jerking the rose shaped pendant from its spot at her neck she whispered a Portus over it and dropped it on the other side of his head before leaning over to kiss his beastly maw softly, sweetly._

_"Use this to come to me once you are finished with your idiocy. I will wait for you in my family's summer home, my quarters are in the West Wing. Remember, Rhydderch...your time is short. Come to me before the sunset of your next birthday. Then and only then are you welcome to the flower you were so eagerly trying to pluck from me all this time."_

_She smirked and stepped away again, distancing herself from his frozen form before releasing the body-bind curse. There was a blur of movement as he tried for her once more but the familiar tug of apparation pulled her from Malfoy Manor with a resounding POP._

_Rhydderch’s lumbering body crashed into the space Belle’s form occupied seconds ago and found only air to greet him._

_The air smelled of soot and roses._

_Rhydderch tossed his head back and a mournful howl flooded through the halls of the manor, carrying deep into the night._

  
  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-..-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**  


Snoring.

The light, rhythmic sound came from just behind her head.

Hermione's eyes felt glued shut; she tried to open them but they felt so incredibly heavy.

She groaned softly and shifted on her side and immediately froze when she felt the familiar press of a body and a certain intimate part of that body's anatomy nestled between her arse cheeks. Her eyes snapped open.

Daylight filtered in through her cheap blinds, illuminating the room and, with it, bringing the memories of the night before back like a tidal wave.

From her spot on the floor atop her bunched up comforter, Hermione surveyed the damage.

The first thing she noticed was that those cheap little blinds were basically the only thing in her bedroom not completely annihilated. Her bed and its other linens had deep gouges dug into it, rips, tears, and even wads of padding and springs easily visible from where she lay. The frame itself appeared to be broken and anything and everything that had once found itself upon her nightstand or dresser had found new homes with the floor. In many cases, they seemed to have seen fit to broken or shattered themselves in the process.

The small TV she kept in her bedroom also appeared to have exploded itself…along with her ceiling light and both lamps in the room. Dust from shattered bulbs and other glass littered the walls in the most interesting of glittering patterns.

Hell, even her curtains were in shambles, the rod having falling halfway off to cut across the window where it displayed curtains that now hung in shreds.

Hermione turned her head to look at the man at her back, wincing when the aches from the night before made themselves very much known. The soreness between her legs was the most noticeable and, if she were honest, wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Her muscles ached and twitched, a feeling of over-fullness lingering in her nethers where she could still feel a puddle of their combined fluids painting the insides of her thighs. When the thought of it sent a pleasurable shiver from head to toe, she knew she’d finally lost her marbles.

“Morning,” a voice— _Draco’s_ voice—came, barely more than a low growl between his transformation back, the evening’s activities, and the blanket of sleep still smothering it.

The arm Hermione had been using as a pillow and the one draped over her waist both tightened and she felt his nose nuzzling into the hair at her nape.  
Staring straight ahead, eyes huge and wide and unblinking, Hermione croaked.

“Morning.”

Draco inhaled deeply of her scent, his arms giving her a squeeze before wrangling her body so she was flush against him again, grinding his hips against her rear in long, languorous motions. Eyes shut, he placed soft, contented kisses along her nape and shoulder.

Hermione groaned, inching back into him despite whatever shock had taken her when she first awoke.

Her lids drooped at the press of him, stuck somewhere between the lazy enjoyment of his furnace-like body temperature and the heady arousal of the morning wood rocking against her bottom. The latter won out and her mind drifted its focus to how the length of him was now sliding under her backside, along the insides of her thighs, and nudging at her entrance.

Hermione bit the edge of her kiss-swollen bottom lip between her teeth and barely stifled a soft mewl.

Draco cracked his eyes open then, little silver slits honing in on the exposed flesh in front of him. Possessiveness welled in his chest instantly upon seeing the wreck he’d left her shoulder in, bruised and bitten and scarred…

**_‘MATE.’_ **

Draco growled and hefted one of Hermione’s thighs up in a bruising grip, opening her to him and wasting no time in sinking his cock into her with one rough push of his hips from behind.

 _“F-fuck!”_ Hermione moaned, her eyes rolling back and both hands scrabbling at the blanket beneath them.

Their night together had been filled with frantic and wild couplings, the kind of which Hermione never would have dreamed in engaging in with anyone…or any beast, as it were…especially not a beastly Draco Malfoy. Driven to it by waves upon waves of whatever magic had taken root in them, it had been a glorious—if not…unique—experience.

Unsurprisingly, sex with a normal, human Draco Malfoy was nothing to balk at, either.

The tip of him worked a steady rhythm, stroking the sweet spot that his knot had so graciously ground against all night and had her screaming only hours before. The feel of him made her shiver and groan, her muscles tugging at the head of his cock with every distancing pull from her cunt, pulling with it his own matched grunts and rumbles into her hair.

His tongue came out to lap at the blood-crusted wound on her shoulder just before drawing the skin between his now-blunt teeth and rolling the bruised meat there in a way that had Hermione fisting her hands in the comforter. She basked in the spikes of arousal his slow, languid pace wound out of her.

 _“Draco—”_ Hermione whimpered, unable to frame her plea any more coherently than the call of his name.

A throaty growl tore free from him then and that teasing bite moved to the skin over her pulse point. Tugging the flesh between his teeth, he sucked on it— _hard_ —until he felt her walls clamp down around his shaft. Draco released his grip on her thigh, curling a leg over hers, keeping her open to him that way instead. His now free hand delved down, past short, sweat and cum-matted curls to find the sensitive, swollen pearl throbbing for him between her lips. He toyed with it, using the slick coating his shaft to allow his fingers to dance around her clit. They glided over her swollen nub with ease, drawing out her moans and urging the rolling grind of her hips into his fingers with every soft circle he made.

His mouth, his fingers, his embrace—the combination of it all washed over Hermione in a sudden rush and her hips jerked forward with her climax. A muffled groan came at her neck where Draco still teethed and his leg curled more tightly over hers, locking her in place and steadying her enough so he could rove his maddening touch all over her clit through her orgasm.

The overwhelming rush of pleasure took Hermione completely, her taut body wriggling and twisting in his arms until she could find no other solace than that of the curling of her toes and the vice-like clenching of her inner walls around his shaft.

“Fuck!” Draco ripped his mouth from her neck, head thrown back with a loud, throaty moan.

His hips pressed wholly into her, as close as physically possible, and he came, emptying everything he had and more into her at her body’s insistence of squeezing him dry.

Breathing heavily, Draco plopped his head against her curls and slurred out a barely intelligible word.

“Fuck…”

He ran his lips over her bruised shoulder and freshly bruised neck, dragging his tongue over the marks he’d left on her before placing soft kisses to her skin. Draco let out an exhausted sigh and pressed his forehead into the crook of her neck and shoulder.

 _“Good_ morning,” he said, amending his initial greeting.

Hermione snorted but nodded anyway, snuggling back into him.

“Good morning,” she agreed.

This felt different— _she_ felt different.

The night was filled with wild, uncontrollable urges and near-maddening need. This…this was pleasing. It was comfortable…content… _safe._

She felt Draco reposition them, removing himself from her with an involuntary gasp and shiver. He tugged the edge of the sheet they laid on over them with apparent intent to curl back up and nap some more.

In her post-coital bliss, Hermione thought that idea was splendid. It was probably the second best idea he’d had so far with the first being their morning shag. With a contented hum, she hunkered back down into his heat, curling her legs towards her center and feeling his cooling seed leaking from her, dribbling down the meat of her thigh…

Her eyes shot open.

_"SHIT!"_

Draco was jostled from his near sleep when a frantic Hermione tossed the sheet from them both and began smacking at his arms and legs until he finally uncoiled their limbs and let her up. He watched her scramble to her feet, eyes huge and darting about the room searching for something.

“Granger? What are you—”

“Where…where, where, where, WHERE IS IT?!”

He blinked and his foggy head wrestled with his concern at the way she was tugging at her hair looking about to have a conniption and his adoration of how all her delicious parts jiggled and his cum dripped down her legs.

“Where what, Hermione? What are you on about?”

Hermione snapped her head in his direction at the sound of her name. She looked panicked.

“We had **_SEX,_** Draco!”

Blinking again, he prompted her with a small nod and an arched brow.

“Yeah,” he said at length. “I was there. I realize this. Now, what—”

“SEX! We just had a LOT of sex!” At his still blank expression, she flailed and yelled at him in frustration, **_“WITHOUT_** precautions!”

 _‘Oh.’_ Draco’s thinking mind finally caught up. _‘O…oh.’_

To his credit, he did well not to blanch _too_ horribly when the gears finally clicked into place.

Pushing to his feet and successfully stifling his groan at several pleasurable aches in his back and legs and groin, he attempted some normalcy by looking for his clothing. What he found were the remnants of it. In a pile near their initial landing point in the room, he spotted his clothes, ripped and tattered partly by his transformation and partly by the woman who was now launching objects around the room in search of…whatever it was.

Intent on at least finding his trousers, he dug through his tattered clothing pile and was met with a hollow, wooden sound that _thunked_ against the nightstand.

Hermione whirled in the direction of the sound and her naked figure was suddenly clambering over the bed and closing the distance between them. Her eyes looked wild until they locked onto his wand where it lay after being dislodged from the pile.

Hermione dove for it, snatching it up and immediately muttering a contraceptive spell centered at her abdomen. Once she was through, she looked up at Draco, eyes still wide and more than a little frightened.

“Hey…” Draco began with a frown.

"No," she said firmly. "It will work."

"But—"

 ** _"NO._** It will work. It's soon enough after all the...the...the—"

"Shagging?"

"—sex to still be effective! It's within twenty-four hours—it'll work."

"Hermione, we—"

 ** _“DRACO,”_** she snapped, voice trembling even just speaking his name. “Just…just help me find my clothes, please.”

Draco's frown deepened.

Hermione was shaking like a leaf, muttering to herself as she searched for her gown from before, seeming to forget this was even her flat. After she’d wandered a few fruitless circles, he yanked his hooded cloak from his pile of clothing. Stilling her long enough to wrap it around her shoulders, Draco took a firm hold of her chin and tipped her watery gaze up to look at him.

“Hey,” he said again, softly. “It’ll work…you’re the most accomplished witch around. It _will_ work.”

Hermione sniffed, willing back tears threatening to overflow at the most idiotic, most reckless, most _insane_ mistake she may have ever made.

“…thank you.”

She hesitated a moment before leaning forward into his heat and comfort. She wrapped her cloak-covered arms around his naked midsection and pressed her cheek to his chest, her glossy eyes staring off into the distance.

Draco wrapped her in his arms without missing a beat. He didn’t need hyper-sensitive beast hearing to hear the racing of her heart in his ears. He felt it pounding against his own chest and almost worried she might explode. Draco found himself stroking a hand over her hair, smoothing down the wild curls the way one might soothe a frightened pet. He used his other hand to rub circles between her shoulder blades as he, too, stared off into space.

He tried to remain as stoic as possible for her sake while, meanwhile, the only thought running circles in his head was:

_‘Bloody buggering hell…she’s going to be pregnant as shit.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not saying that Rhydderch is a good dude...but I'm pretty sure Belle is super-duper crazy. Hmmm...


	19. The Bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fell into a noot noot snail rabbithole shortly before posting this. I almost ended up posting the noot noot nootella (Nutella) snail instead of this chapter because it insisted on not coming off of my clipboard after showing it to a friend!
> 
> Here's another chapter though instead...I know you're all very disappointed. D:

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Thursday, February 15, 2001 – 6:30AM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
Hermione stood in front of the stove in her flat, spatula in one hand and a quilted mitt with the face of a pig on it covering the other. She steadied a cast iron skillet over the burner with said-pig mitt and stared blankly at the pancakes cooking themselves to perfection in the pan. To either side of her on the counters were plates stacked high with far too much food for two people: a tower of bacon laid out in criss-crossing patterns, a pile of perfectly darkened maple-flavored sausage links, and a rather large bowl of eggs scrambled to fluffy doneness.

Cooking was something that’d become a favored way of de-stressing. And, Merlin, was she stressed.

Focused on her task, her mind was everywhere but there. It had been everywhere but there ever since she’d peeled herself away from Draco’s presence long enough to take a shower—alone, despite the look in his eyes and the desire in her loins—and she’d been left with nothing but the hot running water and every single last one of her thoughts.

All the possible outcomes of their evening together soared through her head. 

_‘How could I be so stupid? Brightest witch, indeed…’_

Mentally chastising herself again and again, she huffed at her irresponsible behavior. She knew there was nothing else she could do for it at this point except for wait and see…and not lay a finger on the wizard in the other room ever again.

She crinkled her nose at the thought.

Scooping the last of the pancakes from her pan and onto the stack with the others, Hermione shut off the stove and leaned heavily against the counter.

She knew very well _that_ idea wasn't going to work.

The two of them had tried to avoid each other for the better part of a month and it made everything that much worse. She wasn't completely daft, she knew that the curse brought them together. It propelled them to do what they did, but she felt _something_ …something she couldn't truly explain—something she wasn't ready to fully evaluate.

They’d been so in tune with one another. Not only in their intimacy but in all the ways leading up to it. Her errant thoughts had seen to it that she’d analyzed and over-analyzed their every interaction to that point. It was something they'd built over years upon years of passing each other in the halls, dealing with each other in the classrooms, the Great Hall, growing up alongside one another and unconsciously learning all their ins and outs, be it as enemies or strained acquaintances.   
The realization that she'd known him for just about half of her life made something funny wriggle in her chest and she turned a sour look in the direction of the pancakes.

"Did they say something foul? Need I issue disciplinary measures? I'm certified in that, you know."

Hermione whipped around to see Draco standing in the doorway to the kitchen. 

His hair was tousled and spiked in various directions, freshly toweled off from his shower. He wore a pair of dull gray, but comfortable looking sweatpants and a faded blue t-shirt that had flakings of an old band logo on it. Both were items she had to dig out of drawers and transfigured to fit him better. Even still, his chest strained at the trappings of the shirt, the outline of his muscles outlined by dark, damp spots on the fabric from where he’d pulled it on too soon.

Hermione licked her lips, the growing urge to snake her fingers beneath the material and trace those muscles herself clouding her better judgment for _just_ a second. When her roving eyes finally found their way to his face, he wore a very familiar smirk on his git face.

"All right, Granger?"

"Breakfast is ready!" she squawked.

Draco arched an eyebrow and padded to her, his still wet feet making soft sucking noises on the vinyl as he closed to a safe distance. 

"I can see that." He nodded to the copious amounts of food behind her. "Looks like you're feeding an army of Weasels there."

She blinked and turned to eye the mounds of food, belatedly realizing what he meant. Her cheeks heated. 

"I just thought—well, your appetite has been more—"

"It’s fine,” he said, cutting her off rather abruptly, leaving her with a different expression he didn’t want to examine.

It wasn’t just fine, it was _perfect._

His appetite had been insufferable since his changes began. Most mornings as it stood, he felt like he could eat a horse. This morning, after a night full of ravaging her to exhaustion, he knew none of what she’d fixed would go to waste. The fact that she’d even noticed his habits from their breakfasts and brunches together, it was…something he didn’t want to think about too closely.

Draco plucked the pig mitt and spatula from her hands and set them aside, making to carry as many plates as he could balance to the small dining area.

“Come on, then. Let’s not waste the effort, I could smell the bacon from the shower.”

Hermione frowned, watching the ease with which he moved about her flat. It wasn’t just how comfortable he was making himself that bothered her, but something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Although, to be fair, a lot bothered her about him right then. She sighed. Taking up her wand from where she’d sat it near the sink, she levitated the remainder of the food, some plates, and utensils for them along with her to follow in his wake.

"Yes,” she said as she entered the dining room. “I’ve wasted enough time as it is. I need to get dressed and face whatever fate it is I have waiting for me at the office. I don't think it’ll win me any more favors if I show up in my cow pyjamas." 

Hermione took the seat he slid out for her after a moment of him looking at her a bit impatiently to do so.

"No need. I spoke with the Minister this morning, it's all taken care of."

"You did _WHAT?"_ She shot right back up from her chair, knocking the back of it into his chest, tearing an involuntary grunt from his throat. All the progress she’d made that morning towards calming her fears and anxieties was washed away with one simple declaration.

Hermione turned to him, frantic, and her words poured out of her.

"When did you have time to do that? What did you possibly tell him to excuse me from missing work?! Why were you speaking to him about me at all—did you bribe him?! You can't just wave money at problems and make them go away, Malfoy! I am on _probation,_ or have you forgotten? He can't know what we did last night! It’s bad enough that I left early yesterday, I can't just miss today as well—I can't— _MMPH!"_

Ignoring the soreness from her bludgeoning of him with her chair, Draco yanked her to him, his lips slanting over hers in a most effective way to silence her.  
He kissed her firmly at first, his mouth a persistent pressure against her own until he felt her shoulders release some of the tension they held. Then and only then did he relax with her, drawing her lips between his teeth with languid suckles and teasing her tongue with the tip of his own. In truth, he’d half expected her to haul off and slap him after her hot and cold morning thus far but instead, her hands slid up over his stomach, pausing at every ridge and valley on their slow climb towards his chest. 

Draco basked in the hot trails her fingers left, scorching even through the fabric of his borrowed shirt. She hadn’t yet let him touch her again since they’d parted ways for their morning ablutions and he’d been craving her from the moment she left his sight. He did well controlling himself and not joining her in her shower—he had at least enough self-preservation to know better, even dealing with the fog of the beast’s…and his desires. Now, though, with her hands delighting in their exploration of his chest, he didn’t hesitate in curling his hands around her hips and drawing them flush to his.

Hermione sighed into his kiss. The anxiousness that’d been coursing through her bled from her bones at his touch and caress. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this couldn’t be normal. They were caught in a curse and it was magic driving her—driving _them_ —on…and yet, she still couldn’t find the energy to refuse it. 

Hermione was beginning to worry where the pull of the magic ended and her own desires began, for it was a blurry thing indeed. She suspected that, if she were, in fact, in her right mind, that state of being wouldn’t entail having several sessions of extraordinarily raunchy sex with the boy that bullied her in school…who also happened to be a client of her employer…while she was on a probation of sorts with said employer. Not to mention that she had a distinct lack of caring that this raunchy bully boy sex partner of hers went between forms of man and beast and she absolutely couldn’t be arsed to worry about such trivialities—anatomy was anatomy…and she enjoyed both instances of his with gusto.

No. If she were in her right mind, none of this would seem fine at all. And yet…she was still finding it decidedly difficult to care.

After countless seconds, Hermione pulled free from Draco’s kiss, taking in long gulps of much needed air. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes half-lidded when she peered up at him, unable to help a womanly smirk at his rumble of protest at the loss of her lips.

"You can't just snog me whenever I'm about to say something you don't want to hear." Her chiding lost some of its edge due to her breathlessness.  
Draco smirked down at her, relinquishing his grip on her hips to trace his fingers over her arms. He stilled her idle stroking of his chest and it was his turn to preen at the noise of displeasure that escaped her at being so stifled. Guiding her hands to his lips, he placed a kiss to the knuckles of first one set, then the other before letting her go.

"I suppose not,” he murmured. “I’d just be snogging you all the time then with that know-it-all mouth of yours. Can't blame a bloke for trying, though."   
She did attempt to smack him at that.

He caught her arm and gently attempted to coax her back into her seat.

"As I said last night, you don't need to worry about your job."

Hermione huffed and tugged out of his grip, folding her arms and doing her best to ignore the nagging chill spreading up her spine as soon as he wasn’t touching her anymore. Channeling her previous train of thought, she stood firm, jutting her hip to one side and looking at him as fiercely as she ever had in school.

"I'll need you to elaborate."

Draco met her stare with one just as stubborn. When she merely raised her chin and arched a single eyebrow in defiance, he sighed.

Motioning to the chair again, he said, “Indulge me?”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione plopped down in her seat and waited for him to take his own across from her before she resumed her earlier arms folded posture, sans hip jutting.

“So…I spoke with Shacklebolt last night like I told you before…and again this morning while you were having your shower. I _may_ have mentioned there was a strong…possibility that while assisting me on my case that you, perhaps, came into contact with a cursed object that _may_ or _may not_ have had an affect on your disposition yesterday evening.”

Hermione's eyes grew wide.

"MALFOY! You can’t just fling this information around to just anyone! Wh-wh—I mean, what if he finds out what we did?! You and I—what we’re _doing!_ Can you even _fathom_ how quickly the Ministry will fire me?!”

When Hermione made to rise again, Draco fixed her with a steely stare, brows drawn in a stern line. He pointed downwards with a single finger as if in warning that she really should stay put. She would’ve been lying if she’d insisted there wasn’t at least the _tiniest_ thrill over what he might do to her if she tested him.  
It was something of a sobering realization.

Plopping back down, Hermione harrumphed, watching him with flared nostrils and folded arms as he dished out their meal once he was satisfied she wouldn’t try getting up again.

“Relax. I didn’t tell him any of _that._ I just told him what he needed to hear to use all that power he has to keep you out of trouble with your department. Hell, I don’t even think anyone was upset over you decking McLaggen, anyway. That was a long time coming.”

At Hermione’s heated glare, Draco sighed with a big sweeping shrug of his shoulders and slouched back into his own seat.

“Okay, so I might have also told him a little about the nature of the case you’re working on—”

**_“DRACO!”_ **

**_“WHAT?!”_** he growled back, dropping his fork to mimic her folded arm posture. “Look, you trust Shacklebolt, right?”

That caught her off guard. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“What?”

“Yes or no. Do you trust him?”

“Well…yes, of course but—”

“Then there’s no reason _not_ to let him in on this. Besides, I needed to give him something else in order to get him to approve you for a few dedicated weeks away from your office. I think I may have a lead for some more focused research. See, I had a dream last night—”

Hermione froze.

"You what?"

Draco winced in anticipation of her next lash of anger.

"I know, I know, _'You shouldn't have asked for time off for me-’"_

"No! Not that, th-the dream. You had a dream, too? What happened?"

Draco eyed her then, noting the way her body had gone stock still. Her eyes were huge and expectant, those chocolate colored depths swimming with thoughts just beneath the surface. He knew this look. This was her research look. This was the look that he’d spotted before she’d delved too deeply into the diary by herself—he knew better now.

Draco humored her question, but cautiously.

"It was about the curse,” he said at length. “My ancestor. The first Malfoy afflicted and the one who, I'm guessing, is the woman from that Merlin-forsaken diary you kept delving into. Their names…their names were…oh, _bollocks,_ hold on, let me think. Rid? Rye…"

Hermione paled.

"Rhydderch and Bellerose," she said. It wasn't a question.

"You…" Draco grimaced at the speed with which she offered this contribution. "You had the same one…didn't you?"

"I-I think so."

Hermione trembled, he could see it in her shoulders. He watched as her eyes went glossy and seemed to focus on some nonexistent blemish on her dining table.

He could pin the very second her attention left the present to scour that of her memory.

Without thinking, Draco stretched to nudge one of her bare feet with one of his under the table. He felt somehow much better and much worse when she stopped shaking and her eyes snapped up to his, refocusing keenly on him.

"Draco…I think we've gotten ourselves into something infinitely more complicated than we initially thought."

Her hand was in his and Draco couldn't remember how or when it got there, but it felt good nonetheless. Good in a way that was well beyond normal.

He swallowed.

"I think you’re right."

  
  
_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Thursday, February 15, 2001 – 7:00PM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.—** _

  
Breakfast was spent in mostly companionable silence. The only conversation struck was when Hermione’s copy of The Daily Prophet was delivered. Hermione made the front page, one of the resident photographers having supplied a rather beautiful angle of her full wind up before she slugged Cormac right in the jaw and stormed off. The headline read: _Unattainable Shrew Strikes Again!_

The feature went into several trashy details—as it always did—referencing her previous refusal of Ronald Weasley’s proposal the year prior. It also housed rumors of her being demoted within The Ministry, along with citing her decline of press conference attendance as evidence. The proverbial icing on the cake were the overinflated details of one Cormac McLaggen’s recent accomplishments within their Auror department in an attempt to make him out to be another kind of hero being refused by Wizarding Britain’s _‘ex_ -golden girl.’

More concerning than the idiotic blurb was the article inside reporting him found locked in a side room at the conference hall, also housing two large craters in walls and a sizable amount of debris. It was a small article, but Hermione and Draco both scoured it for any signs of him letting the cat—or beast—out of the bag. Thankfully, it seemed that any time the monumentally confused Cormac tried to describe the strange monster he saw that was responsible for all the mess, he drifted off, changing his tune to something else midway. That, combined with all the drained and shattered champagne glasses found on the scene had the reporter painting him as a heartbroken, grieving drunk.

It wasn’t Hermione’s favorite portrayal of him or, tangentially, her, but when compared to him exposing Draco, she’d take it. It’d been dangerous leaving him there with only a _Confundus_ to cover their tracks but after what had happened to her parents, she’d avoided the other option like the plague.

For his part, Draco had tried to lighten her mood by pointing out that one of the Aurors in the background of the second picture with the room seemed to have found what looked to be her torn knickers. Whoever it was pocketed them.

Despite the bruises he’d have from her smacks later, it did manage something of a laugh for both of them.

After the…exciting interlude and the remainder of their breakfast, they hit the books. With a set of names to go on, it at least gave them a lead in the right direction. They compared notes on what they could remember of their shared dream and found that they seemed to have been cast in the male and female roles. Draco had been privy to the innermost feelings of Rhydderch and Hermione to those of Bellerose, experiencing them as vividly as their own.

Hermione made note to look up more on possession and transference.

After some initial awkward rearranging, the duo lounged near one another in her living room combing through the journals she still had in her flat. They looked for things around the earlier years depicted in the cursed diary and any signs or mention of either of their two culprits from the dream. 

Draco favored sitting on her sofa, one leg atop the other with his ankle resting on his knee so he could spread multiple journals out around him at once. Hermione took up a spot on the floor surrounded by stacks of books, shifting only so that her back pressed against his leg. They both gallantly avoided talking about the unspoken need to be in constant contact with the other in even the smallest of ways. On a positive note, neither of them seemed to be completely overtaken by their hormones since their sexual escapades. Most assuredly they felt the pull, but it was dulled.

The hours flew by and it wasn’t until Hermione’s mantel clock struck seven that they made any true motions to separate.

Draco had zero desire to leave…though he also had zero desire to destroy Hermione’s flat. Perhaps he’d have to show her the charms he used on the Manor—maybe tomorrow. He tried to think only sparingly about leaving her for the evening for when he did, an unsettling sense of dread took root in the pit of his stomach. He busied himself with helping her re-sort the stacks of journals as well as filling a satchel full of several to take back home with him to re-file—anything to keep his mind occupied.

“Don’t you think you’ll look a bit suspicious?”

Startled from his packing, Draco blinked over at her.

“Pardon?”

Hermione looked back, finding him near the fireplace where he had an open bag, brimming with books and his shredded formal wear, slung over a shoulder.

“Returning to The Ministry like that. I suppose it’s late enough that there won’t be anyone lingering…save for the janitor…but shouldn’t we take a little more care?”

When it dawned on him that she was under the impression he had to return to the floo system at The Ministry in order to head home, he looked at his bare feet, flexing them with an awkward shuffle before peering back at her.

"I'll be going straight to the Manor."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Well, yes, that would be ideal,” she drawled. “But that would require the permissions to be established first." 

Draco offered up a sheepish look and her mouth popped open in a little ‘o.’

"When did you _possibly_ open access to my flat from your home?"

He shrugged, actively avoiding the question.

"It doesn't really matter, does it?" 

_‘The day after that first sex dream...’_

"Point is, you just need to set it up on your end and I'll be good to floo straight home."

Hermione squinted at him, mentally swearing to grill him more about it later when they had more time. For now, she did her part to connect the two.

"Right then, bright and early tomorrow I suppose? I'll come straight over around 8 or so."

"Yes. Tomorrow." 

Draco lingered, looking at her fireplace while bracing himself as though he were contemplating a several stories drop that he had no choice but to take. Looking back to her, he saw a similar strain in her shoulders and jaw. He wanted to comment on it but decided against it.

_‘It’ll be fine.’_

"Tomorrow. I'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione watched him grab a handful of powder and toss it into the hearth before stepping through a mass of green flames. The second he was gone, she let out a deep, shuddering sigh and collapsed her weight against the stone frame of the hearth. An emptiness pooled in her gut and her chest ached in a way she hadn’t felt for some time.

_‘It’s fine…I’ll see him in the morning.’_

  
  
_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_**_  
 _ **Thursday, February 15, 2001 – 9:00PM**_  
 _ **-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--**_

  
It was, of course, _not_ fine.

None of anything was fine.

Excruciating, searing, blinding pain was all Draco knew as the change took him that night. He couldn’t wrap his head around why, but it was. He hadn't felt this way during the transformation since the very start. 

He roared, throwing himself at the sealed door to one of the many large, unused bedrooms in the Manor. He’d taken to locking himself in on most nights, particularly as of late when he couldn’t trust himself not to seek out Hermione and satisfy some, if not all, of the bestial urges that thrummed through him as the moon rose.

During his stints as the beast, Draco found he was magicless and so had taken to following the same routine every night: he’d strip down, lock himself up, and magically seal all the doors and windows in order to ride out his change. This, coupled with the charms he’d cast on the house to keep everything from being destroyed seemed to work well enough. The scant few items he left without regenerative charms keeping them safe were the few he wouldn’t miss—the ones that would help him feel better smashing in terrible fits of rage. Once done holing himself up, he’d store away his wand in a compartment he lacked the manual dexterity to get into as the monster he now was.

It was brilliant, really. A big beast all bundled up and tucked away for the night, no harm, no foul, nothing to worry about.

Brilliant.

Or at least he’d thought so…until tonight.

This horrible, excruciating night found him throwing himself bodily against the bedroom door that was, infuriatingly, holding firm.

His skin crawled beneath his growing fur and he wanted to rip it all off, shred it with his forming claws. Mostly, he wanted to get out. He couldn’t be sure why, but he knew he had to. Whatever would make it stop was on the other side of that door.

He knew it.

_A voice in his head told him so._

Another series of cracks and grinding bone echoed in the room between his groans and growls of pain. He gnashed his teeth as they reformed and spread his jaw. His now clawed hands scrabbled at the door, shaving long curls of wood off, only for the charmed door to repair itself and replenish the gouges with new wood.  
The urgency to get out was overwhelming. It was taking his mind, stealing any sane thought he had left in his head. It was throwing him into a frenzy…until he heard her.

**_"DRACO!"_ **

_‘Hermione?’_

He must have been hallucinating.

**_"DRACO, WHERE ARE YOU?!"_ **

Her shout boomed through the halls, voice raw and frantic.

His pain was pushed into the back of his mind and he slammed against the door again.

**"HERMIONE!"**

Draco's changed ears flicked forward and he could hear the swift pattering of her bare feet speeding in his direction. He banged and beat against the door to guide her to him until he could finally smell her on the other side of the wooden barrier heaving massive shaky breaths. He watched the doorknob rattle and heard her slam her fists into her side of it with her own snarl.

"Why won't it open?!" She beat against it several more times, clawing at it from her side as well.

“Spelled shut!” Draco’s growled reply launched her into another distraught frenzy.

Hermione’s nails scraped and peeled in her crazed scraping. A fever was driving her on, her skin was flushed and no matter how many articles of clothing she peeled off of her, she couldn’t cool off.

Illness had brought her here. A sudden onset of illness crashed into her like a tidal wave as the sun set and the moon climbed into the sky had and she burned and ached and needed to be here. She’d left all her things, her wand, her bag, most of her clothing, everything was back at her flat because she _needed_ to be here.

She needed to be on the other side of this door.

Draco could fix this. She knew he could.

_A voice in her head told her so._

“Away from the door!” she snarled.

Hermione gave him only the briefest of moments to move before she thrust both of her splayed hands at the door separating them and screamed, **_“BOMBARDA!”_**

The door and its surrounding frame exploded in a shower of splinters and stone. The power behind the spell was violent and unfocused from the lack of her wand but impressive that she could manage it at all.

Before the dust had even started to settle, the charms were already on their way repairing the door. With hardly a second thought, Hermione leapt through the hole before it closed Draco away from her again. She scoured the room frantically with her eyes, searching the settling debris for the shape of him. As soon as she caught sight of his hunched and somewhat startled form in the corner.

“Draco!” Hermione cried, stumbling forward and collapsing into his arms.

Draco felt the weight of her slam into him, his massive furred arms encircling her at once. As soon as he held her in his arms, the maddening haze from before began to clear. In this new clarity, he noticed at least a dozen things about her haggard form. Among the more concerning were the deep gouges he could make out on her arms where it seemed she’d clawed lines of her skin off and the way she shook in his grasp. He felt her hands fist in the fur of his chest and the way her tears matted the ruff at his neck.

“What happened?” Draco asked in a growl that managed to express his explicit threat to whatever or whoever had sent her to him in such a disheveled state.  
Her bushy head of curls shook back and forth at his rumbling and she buried her head further into his neck. Draco felt her frame-rattling sobs and along with his growing concern, a distinct, possessive anger roiled through him.

_‘Protect…then find…then kill…’_

Draco’s coherent thought devolved into only those three circling items of business and he resolved to make good on his list, one thing at a time.

A deep, rolling rumble leaked from Draco’s throat and it was as soothing of a sound as he could make. Hefting her in the cradle of a single arm, he plodded to his still mostly in tact bed on his remaining three limbs. Once they reached his destination, it took no small amount of coaxing to have her release him and lay on the torn and frayed mattress. He was able to see her face then. She’d calmed considerably from the few moments ago where she’d been crazed and hyperventilating, but her eyes were bloodshot and their normal brown was flecked with fading speckles of gold.

They didn’t talk anymore that night. They didn’t need to.

Hermione scooted to one side of the busted bed and Draco’s massive form slid in beside hers. He lay with his back to the room’s door and she made her bed in the circle of his arms, lulled into a calm sleep by the methodical combing of his claws through her hair. Draco wasn’t far behind.

So deeply they slept in that blissfully dreamless sleep that neither noticed the tendrils of magic coiling about them.

Silently, stealthily, the energy encircled the sleeping pair. It wove in and out of their tangled limbs in a mocking, lewd caress. It touched upon them thoroughly, inside and out, before dissipating.

The magic was sucked into Hermione’s floral pendant like a vacuum.

Soft cracks and pops sounded over the rhythm of their breathing, all coming from the small piece of jewelry pressed between them.

The metal lily twitched and writhed, curling and uncurling, bending and bowing, all until it had reformed itself into something new…or, perhaps, something very old.

Energy hummed in the silence of the room.

And it all came from a single, delicate, metal rose.


	20. The West Wing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You must never go into the West Wing >:U

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Friday, February 16, 2001 – 7:00AM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

The comforting feeling of warmth and steady puffs of breath on the top of her head is what Hermione woke up to. Slowly, reluctantly, she cracked open her eyes and the sight of a pale chest came into view. It took a few moments for the night to come back to her and once it did, the mortification wasn’t far behind.

Her head immediately started replaying them over and over in a terrible recollection of the irrational panic that’d felt as if it would’ve driven her mad by herself—the panic that had driven her there…

…into the arms of the man who was, incidentally, now awake.

"Good morning,” Draco said in a sleep-tinged murmur.

His voice startled her and when her shoulders jumped, he loosened his embrace just enough so that she could peek up at him. Draco’s hair was pleasantly mussed, his silver eyes darker than usual and glossy as they focused on her. When she caught his stare, the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smirk. She met it with a sheepish smile.

“Hi,” she said.

Draco breathed in the fresh scent of the witch in his arms, her mere presence like a calming draught to his nerves, even in her current state. Examining her face, he saw streaks of dried tears from the night before. The skin around her eyes was still puffy and pink, and the way she sniffled was only further evidence of how much of the evening she’d spent crying.

Brushing some of her disorderly mess of curls away from her face he tucked them behind her ear, stroking his fingertips down her neck. He let his touch linger and move across her exposed shoulder which still held the evidence of his healing bite as well as new marks left from the gouges her nails had made in her skin before she came to him.

Draco had resolved not to allow the magic to control him any more than it already did. Beyond the beast, he knew there were forces pushing the two of them together. He loathed to give the magic any more ammunition to use to fulfill whatever purpose it had in store…but seeing her like that…what else could he do?

"I think you should stay here,” he said.

"What?" Hermione’s eyebrows shot up.

Draco shifted onto his back, dragging Hermione with him so she was half-draped across his front. He ran his hands over her arms as she propped herself up to maintain eye contact.

“Tonight,” he said. “Until we figure this out…for however long—I think you should stay here.”

He saw the protest building in her chest like dragonfire ready to spit and he halted her with a gentle hand on her cheek.

“Look, with what happened last night, I think it’s safer if you sleep here.”

Hermione shot him a sour look but made no move to extract herself from his touch.

“Safer in what capacity?” she asked tartly.

Draco scowled in return.

“Are you _really_ asking me that? Look at yourself! You nearly ripped your skin off!”

“And what’s to say being here will help with that?” Hermione huffed and wriggled free of his light embrace, pushing herself to her feet using his chest as leverage.

Draco grunted at the shove and followed suit, albeit more slowly, his muscles stiff and popping as he stood.

“Maybe because of the fact that you were fine _after_ you got here.”

Hermione turned, pointer finger already extended and ready to lecture when she realized he was standing before her, stark naked with his cock at half-mast, bobbing in her direction. Her skin heated and she tore her gaze away.

“Where’s your bloody wand?” she hissed.

Draco quirked an eyebrow and gallantly resisted taking the bait of that particular question. He waved an arm at the far side of the room.

“There’s a loose stone in the corner.” At his directions, Hermione shuffled over to retrieve his wand and he folded his arms with a frown. “Do you enjoy being so stubborn about everything?”

She snaked her fingertips around the heavy stone Draco pointed out, grumbling as she hefted the thing out of the wall. Groping around the dusty cubby, she scoffed at him.

“Only about things that pertain to _you.”_

“And why is that?”

"What?” Her brow furrowed, partly in response to his question and partly because the cubby appeared to be much deeper than she’d originally thought. “What do you mean _‘why?’”_

"I mean _why?_ You're supposed to be smart, so why is it that you've been going about some fairly obvious things in the most roundabout, nonsensical—and quite frankly— _stupid_ kinds of ways?" A sneer found its way to his lips as he watched her arm disappear entirely into the hiding spot.

She gave him a much louder and even higher pitched scoff. 

“I’ve no idea what you’re on about!”

Hermione’s shoulders stiffened as she finally found his wand buried deep within the magical space and yanked it out, turning to open the room only to come face to face with a very close, very solid, very naked Draco. She’d never even heard him move.

She swallowed.

_“Excuse_ me.”

When she went to sidestep him, Draco moved with her, blocking her path. 

“Granger, do you even know how many strange dreams you had since you started delving into that cursed diary?”

“I…maybe a handful…or a dozen. What’s your point, Malfoy?”

She dipped away in the other direction and he followed once more.

“At least a dozen before even _thinking_ to mention it to me.”

“You’re not my keeper—”

Hermione tried again, only to find him there, a solid wall of persistent annoyance, refusing to let her by.

“You could have been in _danger!_ And then last night we both knew better—”

“We knew nothing of the sort!”

“HERMIONE!”

Her jaw clacked shut and the death glare she gave his collarbone was scathing. Draco bent his head, seeking her gaze but she studiously avoided it.

“You and I _both_ know we shouldn’t have separated last night,” he said. “…but we did. We did and look at you…look what you did to yourself.” 

Draco reached for her shoulder again, as if he could soothe her own claw marks away, but she stiffened and he dropped his hand. He sighed.

“If it wasn’t obvious before, it’s glaringly so now. We can’t just ignore this. And we can’t just keep trying to avoid each other. At least not for right now. So. Again. Why are you still being so bloody stubborn?”

Hermione knew why.

She’d known the reason ever since he kissed her for the first time at the cafe with concern in his eyes for her safety around the damn book but she couldn’t find it in her to admit it aloud. Not to him. Not right now.

Steeling herself, Hermione built up her walls.

“Because it has to stop. Now…get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

Draco’s nostrils flared at the infuriatingly stubborn witch standing in her rumpled nightshirt and shorts, gashes torn into every inch of skin he could see. 

“No. Granger, look at me,” he pleaded. “Why won’t you just do this the easy way for once? You can feel it the same as I do—why must you always complicate things?!”

Hermione fumed.

_“Complicate_ things?”

Clenching his borrowed wand in one hand and using the other to prod him square in the center of his chest.

“In case you haven’t noticed, things were pretty complicated from the get-go!”

Leaning into each nasty jab like a brat, Draco stretched to his full height.

“All the more reason for you not to make them worse!”

**_“ME_ **make them worse?!” Hermione snarled, the fuse of her temper impossibly short. _“Alright_ then ‘Mister Do-It-The-Easy-Way-This-Time, Granger!’ Let’s look at the entire situation here—the whole big bloody picture.

“First, say I do stay here to ‘make it easier on us.’ Under normal circumstances, we’d likely just hex each other to death, but under these, we fuck. As much as I hate to admit it, I messed up before and now, we don’t even know if my spell from before will work. So, every bleeding second I spend around you— _with_ you—is one more that _you’re_ likely to knock me up and, sorry, Malfoy, but that’s not how I plan to have a family!”

Draco sneered at the her still-prodding hand and snatched her wrist in a rough grip to try and get her to stop.

“That won’t happen!”

“But what if it does?”

Hermione sneered back at him and smacked his grasp away with more strength than he recalled her possessing.

“What?” she continued, “Are you going to marry me out of pity just to keep a Malfoy from being born out of wedlock? Please, spare me your charity!”

Hermione shoved Draco to the side with enough force to have him stumbling back into the half-broken bed. She stormed towards the room’s entrance and he gaped at her crude assumptions. She was brimming with anger and he felt it licking at his skin.

It was driving him mad.

“I would never—”

She cut him off, clawing at her neck where the chain of her necklace bit into her flesh.

“Marry me? No, you wouldn’t—and we won’t. We can’t! You have two options to breaking this curse: you either get married or we figure out how to stop it once and for all! Considering neither of us _actually_ fancies each other, we have exactly _one_ option you and I can pursue and it is not—” She gestured wildly between them. **_“—this.”_**

Hermione flourished his wand at the door and exclaimed all too loudly an unlocking charm to release them. She wasted little time in escaping from the room. Draco glared at her back and snatched up what remained of a tattered sheet on his bed, wrapping it around his waist and stalking after her angry form.

There was something pushing the issue for him and he knew deep down that it wasn’t the curse driving this time. He’d known this witch for so long and she’d always had his attention, perhaps more so after his chance to peek into her file and read about the full, rich life she’d led before leaving the Muggle world behind. Hermione Granger had always been on his mind and regardless of how they got to where they were, he wasn’t ready to leave it all behind.

“Nothing has to change,” he called after her but even as he said it, he knew how stupid it sounded.

Hermione stopped mid-step and whirled to face him, an incredulous look plastered to her face.

"It **_doesn't,_** does it?" 

It was her turn to bar his way in the hall, hands on her hips, a scowl darkening her features.

“And what happens when this magic wears off? Hmm? What about when you no longer have **_any_ **earthly desire to lay your eyes on me, much less any other part of you? We just go back to being people that happened to try to kill each other back in school? A pair of magical-folk that grew into awkward, apologetic acquaintances—‘Sorry for trying to kill you and your mum! Here's a cuppa!’—who got cursed, had a mind-blowing shag, eventually got better, then went on our merry fucking way? I don’t think how it works in practice!”

Hermione turned her back on him again but the urgency Draco felt to keep her there caused him to make a decision.

“Wait!” 

Draco’s lashed out and grabbed her arm. His grip curled around her bicep and was like iron. Hermione froze and her face was hidden behind the fall of her hair but he felt the heat of her stare burning into the place where he held her.

“Let. Me. Go.”

“Not until you stop being such a bitch and listen to me!” he growled.

Draco’s decision…was a very poor decision.

An inhuman snarl bubbled up from Hermione’s chest and her hand came flying for his face. Her fingers were curled like claws and the movement was so swift and severe it caught Draco completely by surprise. Her nails ripped into the flesh of his cheek leaving angry red gashes in their wake.

The air in the room chilled in great contrast to the energy from the heated row only moments before.

Stunned, Draco did drop his grasp from her arm then, his curious fingers coming up to feel the warm liquid pooling at the cuts on his face.

He examined the smudges on his fingertips a moment before his gaze panned up to her half-hunched, tooth-bared form, still poised in the after swing of her blow. The pair of them locked stares, his a molten silver and hers a swirling, glittering gold he’d never seen in them before. She was a feral beauty, wild and animal.

_‘MATE.’_

A low, warning growl trickled from between his teeth. 

The sound rumbled through her, settling deep into her bones, her womb, her cunt.

Hermione found herself breathing heavily, staring into dark silver eyes that dared her to run.

She took a single slight step backwards and saw his nostrils flare and his shoulders tense. She tried for another and he released another, more insistent sound of warning, moving a step forward with her this time.

Every one of her instincts was screaming at her to run but not out of fear.

Anticipation built in her belly and slicked her thighs at the thoughts of exactly what would happen if she fled—more specifically, of what would happen when she was caught.

_‘Mate…’_

When he took another measured and predatory step towards her she bolted.

**_“DEPULSO!”_ **

Draco flew backwards at her sudden shout, slamming into the nearest wall and cracking a dent into the plaster. Snarling, he shook himself straight and leapt to his feet, scrambling to follow her escape down the hall. 

He caught her scent, strong and spicy with her mischief. The hasty pattering of her feet echoed as they both tore in the direction of the sitting room.

Draco roared after his mate and it rattled the halls as he pursued her. The Manor was huge and although she’d managed to get a lead on him, it was still his domain. He took a handful of side hallways to beat her there and they both stumbled into the sitting room at once, panting and staring at each other on opposite ends of the room.

_“Hermione…”_ Draco grated out her name, edging himself between her and the hearth.

“This isn’t a game!” she hissed. “Out of my way!”

“I’m not the one giving chase,” he snapped back.

Draco took several measured steps forward and she gave ground with each one.

That scent of hers spiked again and she shifted her weight subtly from one foot to the other, seemingly debating running for the floo or deeper into his home.

She made a choice.

**_“BOMBARDA!”_** Hermione growled her spell, tearing up the stone between them and turning to run back down the hallway that led her there.

Draco’s roar followed her with the man himself close on her heels.

His heavy footfalls and harsh panting spurred her to flee _faster._ Her whole body buzzed with the excitement of the chase. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but just knew she had to get there, and _quickly._

All on her route, Hermione sent several more explosions into the ground behind her and ripped paintings from their perches to slow him down. Draco’s charms on the Manor did well at putting everything back to rights, but she was sure it would at least delay him some.

It wasn’t until she found herself facing a familiar set of ornate double doors that she realized where she was. 

"Fuck!" 

On any other occasion, she would have been ecstatic to see the library, but in this case where she knew with absolute certainty that there was no other exit save for the way she came, it was most assuredly not where she wanted to be.

_Or was it, though?_

_All chases must come to an end._

As if on cue, Draco's heaving, panting form slid into view at the end of the hall. His attention immediately latched onto her own breathless figure. The sheet around his waist was still miraculously in place, although not by much, and he couldn't help the predatory smile of satisfaction that curled his lips.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at his cockiness and tried for another _Depulso_ sent his way but he was able to dodge it and came barreling for her. She cursed and pushed forward through the double doors of the library trying to turn, shut, and lock them before he could plow through but she barely got past the threshold when she felt his heavy weight slam into her back and tackle her to the floor.

Hermione flailed in his grip when he flipped her over, still trying to get a swipe in at him with his own wand before he straddled and restrained her. Sitting over top of her, Draco pressed his hips heavily over hers and his hands held her wrists to the floor above her head, though she refused to release his wand.

Draco leaned in, nose to nose, and bared teeth that seemed just a hair too sharp to be human.

“Is this honestly how I have to get you to listen to me?”

This wasn’t what she’d been anticipating. She hadn’t wanted to _talk._ Her head was fuzzy and Draco’s half-hard cock was pressing into her stomach and the wanker was _talking._

Hermione set her jaw. Angry that he’d chased her for this, angry that she ran, angry that they were still going to be arguing—just **_angry!_**

"Answer me!" he growled, freeing her wandless hand in favor of gripping her hair at the base of her neck and wrenching her head back to look at him more clearly.

Fire in her blood ignited at his rough handling. A devilish voice in her head keened for more of it—it urged her to coax it from him.

"Get. Bent," she spat.

Draco’s hand shifted to close around her throat in warning and he felt her gasp and her pulse flutter against his palm.

The scent she was giving off was damning. It grew bolder when his fingers bit harder into the skin of her neck.

"You are such a _bitch,”_ he snarled.

Hermione slashed at his unmarred cheek half-heartedly but Draco caught it and forced it back down beside her head, freeing her throat once more and earning him a confused whimper that sent a tingling jolt right down to his groin.

Draco licked his lips, allowing his gaze to rove over his witch.

Her cheeks were pink from exertion, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. His eyes lingered on the shoulder that screamed his claim and he felt himself growing impossibly harder despite their row and chase—because of it perhaps. He watched her throat bob when he ground his hips against hers and when the urge to rut threatened the last of his sensibilities, Draco choked it down, willing himself to maintain his more human state of mind.

Draco let out a shuddered exhale and pressed his forehead to hers with his eyes shut, loosening his grip on her wrists so he still held her but no longer with any force.

“I’m not stupid,” he murmured. “You’re right…if not for this curse, we never would’ve gotten this close. But that doesn't matter now..." 

He could hear the pattering of her heart calming from its earlier erratic pattern and he gulped, daring to brush more of his skin to hers as his nose traced a light path down the side of her face until they rested cheek to cheek.

“I can’t answer all your bloody questions about what’ll happen after this is over. I’ve rather been avoiding thinking that far ahead…but what I do know is you’ve been on my mind ever since that first damned night you were here. All those idiotic witches paraded in front of me like prizes and I still couldn’t get your bushy-haired, bossy, scowling self out of my head.”

He said the words in an absurdly fond way and it made Hermione snort. She tugged her wandless hand free of his loosened grip and her fingers found their way into the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Wanker,” she said.

A warm rumble vibrated from his chest and against hers, carrying that warmth into her breast and all the way down into her toes.

“It might be the magic…it might be something else. Whatever it is…I think you’d find that if it came down to it, things might not end as poorly for us as you think.” 

Draco buried his nose in the crook of her neck and drew in the equally calming and maddening scent of his beast’s chosen mate. 

“Stay,” he said.

“But what if—”

It was all she got out before he moved again and had his lips pressed to hers, silencing her argument. Hermione growled out a muffled protest against his mouth and it was a half-hearted thing. His tongue slid along the seam of her lips and she met it with her own in a teasing stroke. 

Draco’s hands slid down the length of her arms and her sides, all the way down to the waistband of the night shorts covering the tight little body of hers that’d taken to gyrating against his. When his fingers slipped beneath the band, she bit into his lip hard enough to make him gasp and jerk back. With the opening, Hermione shoved him off of her and deposited him roughly into a surprised heap at her side.

“Presumptuous git,” she snarled.

Addled from the sudden change of pace, Draco’s instincts dredged up a snarl of his own but it died in his throat, turning into a strained groan when his little mate dropped the weight of her hips back onto his and he could feel exactly how thin his sheet and her night clothes were.

Hermione hissed out a contraceptive spell before tossing Draco’s wand aside and climbing up his prone body, pinning him to the cool marble of the library floor in a mirror image of their previous position. Her head came down as if to kiss him but instead, he received a sharp smack in the chin with what felt like a tiny, heavy ball of lead.

“Granger, what the hell?” Draco jerked his head back and tried to see what’d hit him, finding Hermione’s rose-shaped pendant swinging like a pendulum between them.

“Sorry,” she grunted in a half-hearted apology, moving in to kiss him again.

A distinct oddness about her pendant tickled the far reaches of Draco’s memory.

_‘Was this always a rose…?’_

Draco reached to steady the charm at the same time she did. The moment both of their hands connected with each other and pressed against the petals of the necklace, the library filled with a blinding flash of white light.

The tables and chairs in the room trembled as energy exploded out from the tiny rose.

Draco and Hermione barely had time to catch each other’s stares before they felt the magic collapsing back down around them in the form of a familiar, nauseating pull at the backside of their abdomens and they were dragged through a swirling vortex to a place very far from home.

  
_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Friday, February 16, 2001** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

_"Who are they?"_

_"I do not know! Look at them, they look like the master and the mistress..."_

_"Let me see! Let me see!"_

_"Impossible! They would have to be hundreds of years old by now. Surely they just look..."_

Hermione groaned and the whispering she swore she'd heard stopped.

Her body ached with every movement she made to pick herself up from the solid pillow of Draco's body that she’d landed on in their ungraceful heap in…wherever the hell they were. Hermione rubbed at her head in an attempt to sooth the pressure behind her eyes, blinking and finding very little light in this place they’d landed.

From what she could make out, they were in a large house, perhaps even a castle with how high the ceiling reached and how far the halls stretched into the horizon. There were dozens of windows lining the ground level of the walls surrounding them, as well as another level further up, but they were all overgrown, making it impossible to tell what time of day it was. What little light wormed through the cover of vines and other foliage did nothing for showing her a way to the exit, either. No fires were lit for warmth and no living occupant could have called this place their home—not if the biting chill and the stagnant air were any indication.

“Draco?” Hermione hissed, squinting at the shape of his body beside her long enough to identify him before shaking him. “Draco! Get up!”

It took several rounds of jostling but she finally heard a choked grunt and a cough.

“Stop with the bloody shaking unless you want me to be sick!”

He smacked her hands away from him with a growl, finding his own head upon waking to be in significant disarray…along with his sense of balance. The room spun, even while he remained prone and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“Sorry,” Hermione grumbled. She shivered and rubbed her hands over her arms in an attempt to warm up. “What happened?”

Draco grunted again and it turned into a long, miserable groan until the spinning behind his eyelids subsided and he felt steady enough to peel them open.

“Based on the way my stomach is behaving, I’d say we just took a ride with a portkey.”

Hermione frowned.

“But to where?”

“How should I know? It was _your_ necklace that brought us here!”

"My…" 

Hermione finally looked down, trying to tug the little pendant far enough in front of her face on its short chain to examine it, but the lighting was too dim. It felt lighter, far lighter than it did before they landed here. As far as what changed, she tried to take it off to inspect it and see only to find there was no longer a clasp.

Draco sat up finally. The chilled air was decidedly unpleasant, what with being covered only in a barely there ratty old sheet, but it wasn’t nearly as troublesome to him as it seemed to be to Hermione. He opened his mouth to check on her but she stole all the air with a sharp gasp that raised the hair on the back of his neck. He saw her fumbling around with the chain around her neck and her movements grew ever more frantic by the second.

“What? What’s happening?”

Hermione clawed at her necklace, moving and twisting it all around her neck trying to find some kind of way to get it off. She tried pulling it over her head but the chain was too short and when she attempted to break one of the links by yanking at it, all it accomplished was her startled yelp from where the metal dug into her flesh from a still unbroken necklace.

“It won’t come off!” she cried.

“What? Are you sure?” Draco watched her struggle a moment longer before shifting closer to help. “Here, let me.”

Hermione paused in her panicked tugging and sat as still as she could while Draco inspected her pendant. She felt him moving the jewelry with purpose and ease and was about to ask something but whatever it was died on her tongue when she glimpsed the way his eyes shone in the darkness like mirrored discs. She gasped at the sight of them so close and flinched back in surprise.

Those silvery discs narrowed in what must have been a squint.

“What now?” Draco huffed. “I think I almost had something!”

Hermione shook her head and tried to stand.

“Nothing.” She wobbled some as she tested her balance but ultimately got herself upright. “It’s freezing in here. Let’s find somewhere less open where we can build a fire or something and we’ll worry about figuring this out, there.”

Hermione started off in what appeared to be the direction of a large staircase but got a scant few steps before she tripped on a large chunk of fallen debris. Coming inches away from smacking face first into a hunk of jagged stone, Draco caught her and hauled her back to her feet with an irate expression fixed to his face—at least she assumed it was irate with the way his eye shine narrowed further before turning away.

“Watch yourself,” he warned.

Looking around, Draco scouted for a path to the winding staircase in front of them and took hold of her small hand in his.

Littering the area surrounding the stairs were clusters of fallen stone from what once appeared to be at least half a dozen statues and pillars that’d decorated the room alongside the wooden banisters. Draco could make out a handful of carved faces in the rubble and each and every one of them belonged to wicked looking creatures with dangerous teeth and curving horns. Deciding on his best course of action, he steeled himself and set them on a path.

He led them to the stairs and then up, step by step, over a carpet runner that was all but rotted through to the platform where even more stairs branched off to both their left and their right. The pathway towards what once looked to be a pleasant and well-lived portion of the house was blocked by, what Draco suspected, the upper portions of those same fallen pillars he’d spotted in the mess down below. The only cleared way was the opposite staircase which, in and of itself, looked unwelcoming with many shadowed coves shrouding the bodies of broken stone beasts in their darkness.

Draco frowned and glanced behind him where Hermione was shivering and trying not to be obvious about pressing into the heat of his back. He tugged her closer to him, wrapping an arm about her shoulders to encase her in the preternatural heat that apparently came with his curse.

“Guess we’re going this way,” he said.

For once, Hermione didn’t argue. Not when he made the decision to push forward nor when he did so by moving them onwards side by side in his embrace.

Even with his altered eyesight, this hallway looked dark, as though the walls themselves were painted with shadow. Draco could make out the outlines of once gilded, now grime-covered portrait frame with canvases covered by dirt and dust and cobwebs. Gothic style sconces lined the hallway, although most of them were empty. At best, there were a smattering of wax nubs that’d once belonged to long burning pillars or tapers of wax.

The smell of mildew and must was thick in the air and it made his lip curl. He rubbed his hands over Hermione’s exposed arms and kept her close. If he happened to breathe deeply of her scent to chase away the unpleasant aromas of the deadened castle as they walked and plodded on, he was at least subtle about it.

The more they discovered the shambles the place was in, the more uneasy the pair of them grew.

This walkway stretched on for ages and all the rooms they’d seen thus far were ravaged on the inside. Broken and blackened furniture, rusted metal fixtures, fallen ceilings—some of them were even missing portions of floorboards; one room looked as though it had a massive hole blasted clean through it. That one was filled with the rubble of a portion of collapsed roof and wall.

On the bright side, it let a substantial amount of light into the rest of the hall and they finally caught a glimpse of the outside world. It couldn’t have been anywhere past noon if the sun’s position was anything to go by.

On the down side, the huge chunk of missing wall and ceiling let in full gusts of the crisp February mid-morning air. This time they both shivered.

Draco led them more carefully past the last large room, suddenly and sincerely questioning the stability of the foundation of the place. It all looked very old and, although much of the place was collapsing and returning to the earth, it seemed very sturdy for its age. Still…one never knew with such old structures.

He was just about to suggest they turn back around and search the ground floor when their path forward suddenly stopped, ending with a set of extremely solid looking double doors. Draco heard whispers on the other side.

“Did you hear that?” he asked but didn’t wait for a response before he pushed forward and tested the handles. 

Finding them securely locked, Draco scoffed. 

_“Really?”_

Rattling one handle, then the other, then both at the same time, Draco sneered.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! All this way for some locked doors?!”

Hermione watched him try everything he could muster to coerce them open: turning the handles gently, turning them not so gently, kicking the doors, slamming into them with his full body weight. He was making some kind of show, not to mention stirring up all sorts of dust. She coughed and waved the dust clouds away from her face.

“Draco.”

_SLAM._

“Draco…”

_Kick, kick, kick._

“Draco, STOP!”

A violent but short-lived coughing fit took her and that, not her shout, pried his attention away from the doors. She patted at her chest with a cupped hand to shake the ages old death-air from her lungs and glared.

“You’re going to kill me with mold if you keep it up!”

He sneered but backed away from the doors with a sweeping gesture to them.

“We’re short my wand so if you have a better way…”

Hermione stuck out her chin at the mention of his hastily discarded wand and huffed.

_“Fine,”_ she said, padding up to the doors.

Hermione’s eyes scanned over the wood, noticing at once that it didn’t fit the rest of the house—not in the condition it was in now, anyway. Even with the thick stream of sunlight highlighting it, she could see the wood was as dark as the rest of the hall and just as covered in cobwebs as everything else but, underneath _that,_ it looked nearly new.

She was able to make out intricate carvings on the surrounding door frame. Organic curves and twists and swirls that resembled vines were etched into the surface; the pattern reminded her of the wood of her wand. Those same vine-like images crept onto the wooden panels currently barring their entrance, entwining amongst themselves in carefree patterns that were a level of elegance that was _just_ shy of looking too busy and cheap.

At the centers of each door were embossed interpretations of magnificent roses all pictured in full bloom. The cuts into the wood were deep and sharp and clean with no wear on them visible anywhere.

Amazed by their near-perfect condition, Hermione reached out to touch the carving. As soon as her fingertips met the wood, a faint buzzing noise hummed in her ears. She shook her head to clear it, then again, until she realized that it wasn’t in her ears at all but was coming from the very doors in front of her. The noise built rapidly to an oppressive volume and the doors rattled in their frame.

Hermione leaned closer, inexplicably drawn to the growing noise until she was jerked backwards with a sharp yank on her arm and—

**_BOOM!_ **

The twin doors exploded open and a powerful gust of wind barreled into the couple, knocking them to the ground and sweeping freezing air over them both.

The buzzing morphed into pops and whip-like crackling of energy that filled all of the space around them.

It crawled across the walls, the floor, the ceiling—everything within reach.

Hermione lifted her head from where she’d fallen on top of Draco and saw blue-white lightning twitching its way down the hall both from behind and ahead through the new path.

The lightning curled like it was alive, wrapping around sconces, candelabras, and chandeliers with a resounding **_POP_ **for each blue flame that flared to life in their wake. The flames engulfed them, outlining each object in animated flame that flickered and warmed until it finally steadied and shed an ethereal light onto the surrounding walls.

Hermione felt heat wafting from the blue fire almost immediately, relieved at the evaporating chill but feeling a sense of dread take up in its place. With a great deal of effort, she pulled herself to her feet once more, dragging Draco with her. He didn’t release his hold on her even after they were both back on their feet.

Tucking Hermione behind him, Draco growled at the new path before them as if its existence were a threat.

“I’m going to stop asking you to touch things if this kind of shite keeps happening,” he said.

Hermione peeked out from around his side. That dread that was still rooted in her gut was swiftly being overcome with a terrible curiosity. Making up her mind, she stepped towards the new hallway, Draco’s hand in hers.

“Come on.”

When he didn’t budge, Hermione tugged on his arm, paused, and finally turned back to see him staring at her with an expression that was nothing short of incredulous.

_“Really?”_

She rolled her eyes.

“Come _on!”_

Hermione yanked once more and finally succeeded in budging Draco from his spot.

Draco let out a low growl that fazed Hermione not at all and allowed himself to be led forward by his little witch.

“Bloody fucking Gryffindors…”

And onward they did go, straight into the West Wing.


	21. The Blood

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Friday, February 16, 2001 – LeClair Manor** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

The differences between the new path and the old were like night and day.

The darkness of the walls and floor bled away within a few feet of the twin doors to be replaced with richly colored plush rugs, vibrant green and gold walls, and expertly carved mahogany display cases and tables on either side of Draco and Hermione as they walked on. The rooms they passed were immaculate, the furniture inside untouched and as clean as if someone were living there even now. Not a speck of dust covered anything on this side of the house. 

It was as though everything beyond those doors was simply frozen in time. They were untouched by the going-ons of the world around them. 

The sconces ahead were wrapped in the same flickering blue flames as the ones they’d seen back in the eerie hall. While the others popped into existence atop long-forgotten wax candles, these flames writhed in cages of delicately formed brass spires that stretched up along the walls as though they belonged there; they probably did. Whether they did or not, the heat spilling off of each fixture warmed the hallway so thoroughly that the couple was almost able to forget about their state of undress…almost.

Hermione’s grip on Draco’s hand remained firm but no longer bruising as she pulled him along, strangely comforted by the unnatural fire that lit their path. She took in details of the colorful paintings and portraits lining the hall, searching them for any movement or any clues.

“In the dream, didn’t that woman Bellerose say something about her summer home?” 

She waited for a response and instead found herself tugged back a few steps when it appeared Draco had stopped walking.

“Draco?”

Draco had his head cocked to one side with brows drawn, having taken an intense interest in a large portrait housed within a rather expensive looking golden frame.

“Granger, have a look at this.” He pointed with a hint of wonder coloring his tone.

Hermione backtracked to see what he was talking about and gasped as soon as she set her eyes on the image.

Within the canvas were three expertly painted likenesses: two men and one woman. The two men were obviously related and also obviously Malfoys if the telltale white-blond hair said anything. The older man was pictured on the far left, looking to the right. His long silvery hair was cinched at the base of his neck with a black ribbon that blended into the black jacket he wore. His icy stare glared at something off into the distance.

The first man’s openly scornful expression made his pointed jaw and sharp cheekbones all the harsher and reminded her of Lucius.

The second man in the painting stood in the center and appeared slightly taller than the first. He aimed a cocky smirk forward, utterly unfazed by the deep displeasure of the other man at his side…or, by the glint in his eyes, taking immense satisfaction in it. His hair was as pale as the others but cropped short and his eyes lacked the grey or silver hue more commonly suited to the Malfoy men and, instead, were a startling gold shade that sparkled with mirth. He had one arm wrapped lovingly around the lady in the picture.

The woman was poised on the far right, furthest from the scowling Malfoy but pressed close to the other with the familiarity of family. Her expression matched closely to that of the young Malfoy with a crisp pink cupid’s bow crowning lush lips that were tilted up in a wicked little smirk—the two could have been sharing a laugh. Hermione would have thought the two were lovers had it not been for the age in the woman’s face. 

For as youthful as she appeared frozen in this secret laugh, her eyes were bright and fiery and aged. They glittered with a light shade of amber swirled with chocolate and shone with a calculating intelligence that spoke of many life lessons learned and overcome. There was a weight to her gaze, even in her joy…even in this painting. This woman with her smiling visage and smooth spirals of chestnut curls possessed something much more dangerous beneath her beauty.

This woman was Bellerose.

“You could be sisters,” Draco muttered in astonishment.

Hermione frowned and leaned in to examine her double a few moments longer, trying to make out the shape of the pendant that hung from her neck in the painting.

“I’m not sure how much I appreciate that comparison.”

Draco rubbed at his chin, shifting his inspection from the woman to his two ancestors.

“S’at so? And I thought you said she didn’t seem like all that bad of a person.”

“Yes, well…” Hermione scrunched her nose. “…that was before I saw—and _felt_ —firsthand the sorts of things she was willing to do to someone she supposedly ‘loved.’ Even taking into consideration his transgressions, transfiguration as punishment? I don’t think that’s ever been sanctioned by anyone, anywhere.”

“Not like that’s ever stopped anyone,” Draco grumbled and shot her a sidelong glance before returning to view the painting. He pointed at the man in the center.

“Who do you think this is? I’m guessing the one on the left was what’s his name.”

Hermione smacked him on the arm.

“Rhydderch, Malfoy! His name was Rhydderch!” she huffed. “Honestly, Draco, he’s your ancestor, not mine. You should at least _try_ to commit it to memory.”  
Draco shrugged. He’d had enough of memorizing family branches and thorns for a lifetime.

“Anyway…yes. The one on the left looks like him from what I recall. I’m not sure who this is…he reminds me a bit of you, though. Except his eyes are different. Do you think he’s—”

_“My son.”_

**_“AHHHH!!”_ **

Hermione and Draco screamed in unison as a heavily French-accented voice that belonged to neither of them came from somewhere in the near vicinity.

Hermione clung to Draco’s arm and he automatically wrapped his arms around her, shielding her from the mystery voice and…wherever the hell it came from. Her eyes darted around, trying to trace it but she couldn’t hear well over Draco’s threatening growl.

The sound of someone clearing their throat managed to cut through his low rumbling, coming from a few more paces down the hall. Hermione’s eyes went round as she saw another portrait of Bellerose staring at her with a delicate arched eyebrow and that same little smile of amusement quirking her lips.

 _“Je regrette,”_ said the portrait. _“I did not mean to startle you.”_

“YOU! You’re Bellerose!” Hermione squirmed free from Draco’s grasp, tugging away from his protesting grip to make her way to the enchanted portrait’s frame.

Bellerose tilted her head to one side, seemingly intrigued by the familiar features staring back at her.

_“Oui, that is true. Now, who are you and how did you get into this wing?”_

Hermione was a bit taken aback by portrait Bellerose’s clipped tone.

“H-Hermione. My name is Hermione Granger.” She beckoned Draco forward and he came with reluctance and a suspicious scowl fastened on the woman in the frame. “And this is Draco—”

 _“Malfoy!”_ Bellerose hissed. Her eyes narrowed and gleamed as soon as she got a good look at his white-blond hair and pointy jaw. She turned to flee her portrait.

“Wait!” Hermione jumped, latching both hands onto either side of the picture frame. “Please wait—please! We’ve got questions!”

Bellerose paused to look at Hermione’s hands on her portrait with obvious distaste. She then looked to Draco again who she exchanged an entirely unfriendly look with.

_“I’ve no obligation to answer any of your questions. Get out of my home.”_

“Please! We don’t even know where we are. I just have a few questions and then we’ll be out of your hair—I promise!”

The painted woman’s eyes never left Draco’s form as the silence stretched between them. The two traded varying narrowed eyed glares until finally she sniffed and returned her stare to Hermione.

 _“I will answer your questions and then you will **leave.** You will come with me and he—”_ Bellerose flicked a hand in Draco’s direction as though she were shooing away a bug. _“—must stay here.”_

“Like hell I will!”

“Draco!” Hermione whirled around and placed a hand on his bicep, having to coax his sneering face away from the portrait and back to her. She spoke to him in a hushed whisper, “Just wait here. I won’t be long. This portrait of Bellerose could have invaluable information about the curse!”

Draco practically sputtered at that and dragged her away from the picture, placing his back between the curious eyes of the woman and Hermione.

“Yes, _and_ she could be extremely fucking dangerous!”

“She can’t be! She’s a _portrait_. She can’t hurt me. She has no power here! She’s nothing but captured memories!”

Draco peered over his shoulder at Bellerose who was examining her fingernails but he knew from the way her body tilted and the over-dramatic look of exasperation on her face that she was listening to their every word.

He didn’t like this. Not. At. All.

The familiar note of magic coursing through these corridors made all the hairs on his neck stand up. It was the very same that cursed his bloodline and hummed over his skin whenever he and Hermione were too close for too long. It swarmed like gnats around him here and every one of his senses was telling him this was _not_ a good place to be, nor good company to be in.

“Granger, I don’t want you going alone _anywhere_ with her. I don’t care if she’s nothing but oil and canvas, there’s all of nothing that’s right about this place and if you think I’m just going to agree to let you out of my sight without a seocnd thought then you’ve gone positively mad!”

She was stunned by how forthcoming he was with his feelings on the matter. Hermione blinked up at him dumbly and while she could somewhat see his point, she was sure he was just being far too paranoid.

Hermione felt the familiar magic on her own skin and it heated it, kept her warm from the winter’s chill. It was soothing like the flames in their sconces around her.

_This was fine._

She couldn’t understand why he was so worried about it.

Laying both palms flat on Draco’s bare chest, she smoothed them up the planes of muscle so nicely exposed to her and rested them on either side of his neck.

“Draco, I’ll be fine,” she said. “I promise. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“But—”

“What other options do we have?” 

Hermione interrupted his protest and when he looked as though he might continue on, she coaxed him closer and nuzzled her cheek against his. A low purr of pleasure escaped her at the feel of his raspy stubble scraping against her skin.

“Just wait here and I’ll be right back.”

Hermione’s calming scent filled his nostrils and Draco growled. He combed a hand down through her curls possessively before pulling away enough to eye the portrait with his narrowed silver gaze.

He knew his witch wouldn’t let it go.

And she _did_ have a point. This was the only real opportunity that had presented itself so far for finding anything out or at the very least, for finding a way back home.

Without ever taking his stare off the portrait Bellerose who peered at them with too keen an interest for his liking, Draco spoke to Hermione in a murmured kiss against her forehead.

“Be careful,” he said.

Hermione smiled, clapping Draco on the shoulders with a new, beaming excitement.

“I’ll be right back!” she said and hurried back to the picture of Bellerose who seemed astonished at Hermione’s enthusiasm. “Let’s go, I have _so_ many questions!”

Bellerose blinked, head tilted to one side again like a curious bird. She met Draco’s threatening glower for just a moment before she smiled and pointed further down the corridor.

_“Meet me in the room at the end of the hall. There is a large gilded door on the right—my bed chambers—we shall speak there. Your…friend can wait in the room next to it so he does not continue to make a scene for all our ancestors to see.”_   
  


  
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"A few fucking minutes my ass..." Draco groused to himself from his spot on a large four poster bed and its obnoxiously plush mattress.

He and Hermione had split off with Hermione disappearing behind a huge golden door that was just as impressively carved as the ones they entered through and was directed into his somehow decadent but still less posh, room next to it. 

He'd only gotten a glimpse into the other bed chambers before the heavy doors shut but he caught sight of a large marbled fireplace with the same blue fire blazing in it as was lighting the rest of the wing. Worst case scenario, maybe this manor was connected to the Floo network and they could get home that way since for whatever reason, Hermione's necklace-turned-portkey didn't seem to want to activate again. Draco had already given himself a self-guided tour of his own borrowed chambers and found they weren't quite as welcoming as Bellerose's.

The room he was in was lit only to the bare minimum. A small chandelier hung from the ceiling with a handful of fire pots situated on it that the fire flickered in but the other few sconces along the walls remained unlit. There was also a fireplace that faced the bed but it was cold. It also happened to be the first part of this wing where he’d seen any speck of dust.

The bed here had been turned down when he came in as though a guest had been expected. Draco strongly suspected he wasn’t the intended patron. Aside from the curtained four poster, there was minimal furniture to accompany it. A single heavily cushioned armchair, a nightstand, a dresser with an attached mirror, and an intimidating wardrobe whose doors were all jammed littered the different reaches of the room. Though somewhat sparse for the finery found elsewhere in the manor, all the pieces looked to be custom made from the same dark wood. Between that and the deep greens and silvers accenting everything, it reminded him of his library at his own home.

Beyond his exploration of the furniture, there was little else of much interest. A few pictures hung on the walls, none of which had much else in them beyond painted garden scenes with a few people he didn’t recognize as his own milling about in them and pointedly ignoring him.

Draco rested on the mattress with his arms folded behind his head and glared up at the canopy stretched between the bedposts. He’d thought he might be able to eavesdrop on the conversation next door but, even with his enhanced hearing, the wall between them was thicker than he’d expected. He was at least able to make out excited murmurs which, he assumed, belonged to Hermione. It made him feel a _little_ bit better.

_“Draco Malfoy?”_

Draco shot up off the bed looking around.

"What? Who's there?"

_“Here, sir. To your left.”_

He turned as directed, as on guard as he could be still clothed in only a sheet. Draco searched for the source of the new voice.

_“Higher, sir. In the frame on top.”_

Draco looked again and finally saw a tiny hand waving at him from one of the garden pictures he'd dismissed earlier. 

It belonged to a pudgy woman clad in a simple and dark colored dress with a small white apron set atop her skirt. Her dark hair was pulled up into a tight, neat looking bun. By the looks of her attire, she was a servant. 

_‘Who on earth would have paintings of their servants?’_

“Uh…hello there,” said Draco Malfoy, conversationalist extraordinaire.

 _“Good afternoon sir.”_ The woman curtsied. _“Mistress Rose sent me to check on you. Are you in need of anything?”_

Draco blinked at the little image of the woman, approaching the painting with a confused squinty expression.

"Who are you?"

_"My apologies, sir. I am Mistress Rose's maid. She asked that I see to your needs as the others are unable to."_

_‘Bellerose's personal maid?’_

Draco's suspicion was piqued once again seeing how he could tell that the lady of the house didn't care for his presence there. The fact she sent her personal maid to 'check on him' likely meant she was a spy. 

He folded his arms, resisting the temptation to ease back into his haughty temperament and snapped at her, "Right. It's all just peachy peaches in here. You can tell your _Mistress_ as much."

The painted figure seemed taken aback by his bluntness and bowed her head looking very ready to flee from the garden.

_“Forgive me, sir. I will leave you to your peace. Please excuse me.”_

"Yeah, yeah..." 

Draco saw the way her body shied away from his glare and he could just hear Hermione's voice in his head chastising him for being unnecessarily rude when she caught wind of the servant's report back to Bellerose. He rolled his eyes and stopped the maid before she exited the frame. 

“Hey, wait. I _could_ actually use a couple of things.”

The maid paused in her retreat. Her eyes were still lowered but she tipped her head enough to indicate she was waiting on his word.

_“Yes, sir. How may I be of assistance to you?”_

“I'd like you to answer a couple of my questions, if you’d be so kind,” he drawled.

_"O-of course, sir. I will answer them to the best of my ability."_

Draco observed how she fidgeted at his request.

He supposed there was a reason that the witch bitch separated him from Granger and he was going to do his best to wring out what he could from this little spy.

“Firstly, though...are there any clothes here I could borrow?”

 _“Yes, sir. The wardrobe on the far wall should have some things in it that will fit you.”_ She hesitated. _“The Mistress did… request that I try to clothe you prior to her meeting with you again.”_

That surprised him but he shook it off and padded to the wardrobe from earlier.

“She plans on actually talking to me then?" Draco tugged at the wardrobe doors, finding them still firmly shut.

 _"Yes, of course, sir. She would like to speak with you once she has finished with Lady Granger."_ The maid watched him struggle with the wardrobe before piping up again. _"My apologies again, it is sealed with magic."_

Draco let out an exasperated sigh and turned back towards the painting. 

"Excellent. I am short my wand; do you have a spare?" he asked with no small bite of sarcasm.

The tiny little maid's head shook left to right.

_"No, sir, but you should be able to open it."_

"How do you figure?"

She seemed reluctant to explain but answered after a pregnant pause. 

_"Certain doors and cabinets in this wing are sealed with blood magic—the same as the doors that opened to the main hall. These will only open if you are of the LeClair family. This wardrobe contained Mister Abelard's clothing for his visits with his mother."_

Abelard? Mother? 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." 

Draco approached the frame again, the gears in his head turning to push the pieces into place. 

"Back up for a second. Who is Abelard?"

The maid gave him that same birdlike look that Bellerose was giving Hermione earlier.

_"Mister Abelard Malfoy, the Mistress' son. You are Mister Draco Malfoy, correct? According to Lady Granger's accounts, you would be his descendant. It may take a moment to open since you are several generations from the Mistress, but it should still open."_

His family history around Bellerose’s era was largely unattainable due to the curse, but he couldn't deny that the name was still somewhat familiar. That said, the maid's statement about the blood magic locks is what _really_ caught his attention. 

"The hall doors to this wing, they're sealed by blood magic as well you said?"

 _"Y-yes, sir."_

The urgency in which Draco was pressing in on her picture made the maid obviously uneasy as though she’d said something she shouldn't have.

"Only a descendant of a LeClair can open it?"

_"Yes, sir."_

"...Hermione opened those." He watched as the maid's small painted eyes grew into round saucers and he knew she knew something else. Draco ripped the painting off the wall and the maid stumbled around as he shook the landscape. "Spit it out!"

 _"I-I-I do not understand what you mean, sir!"_ She gasped on her hands and knees, stabilizing herself with the perfectly manicured hedges on either side of her.

"Bullshit! How did Granger open the doors?!"

_"I don't—AHH!"_

Draco shook the frame again, snarling angrily with a set of pointed teeth bared at the cowering woman.

"ANSWER! **_NOW!"_**

The maid shrieked when he slammed the picture against the wall, thrusting her off balance from even all fours and she sobbed fearfully.

_"Lady Granger's ancestors are of the Feviere line! The Mistress' second husband after Lord Malfoy chased her from his land! She is a LeClair descendant as well!"_

He growled at the trembling maid and made a hasty exit to try and extract Hermione from Bellerose's bedchambers. 

Draco found the gilded door solidly shut, much like the ones leading to the west wing, only this one didn't even budge an inch when he tried the handle. 

He calmed himself enough to just rest his hand on the door face like Hermione had done with the other carvings— _nothing._

Waiting a few more seconds, he was met with the same result. 

Snarling at the wood, Draco started pounding on it instead.

He yelled and yelled and _yelled_ for his witch on the other side with nary a single sign of a response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O_O


	22. The Rose

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Friday, February 16, 2001 – LeClair Manor** _   
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"I'm WHAT?" Hermione gaped at the woman in the painting.

At Bellerose’s request and in exchange for having her questions answered, Hermione had just finished listing out a rough breakdown of her family line as far back as she knew. Her father had always had an interest in genealogy and had been working on compiling a keepsake book of their family tree before he…passed. She’d worked on it with him, her penchant for researching no doubt an invaluable boon in the efforts. Hermione couldn’t deny that she preened whenever her obscure knowledge came in handy for one thing or another but she never thought being able to recite her lineage back to some nobles of the House of Aumont from the first half of the 1800s would’ve been useful for anything.

_“You are one of mine, dear Hermione. Is it not obvious? You do look just like me, after all.”_

Hermione plopped heavily onto the lush bed behind her. Her eyes were wide and glazed while staring at the noblewoman sipping her tea with one of her maids standing silently in the background of the painting of the Malfoy gardens hanging over the room’s marble fireplace. She mulled over the magnitude of this information.

“But…how is that even possible? I’m Muggle-born. I don’t come from a line of-of witches and wizards! My family never even heard of Hogwarts until I got my letter!”

Bellerose set her teacup and sauce delicately atop her lap and simply _looked_ at Hermione for a long beat before speaking again.

_“Hermione…you are a very smart woman. The fact that you just traced your family back so many generations speaks to that. Do you honestly believe that magic in the blood appears out of thin air? It is something special, to be sure, but it is not quite **that** mystical.”_

Hermione’s brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

 _“Heredity, darling. Just because your parents did not have magic at their disposal does not mean it was never present at all. Of course you come from other witches and wizards—your magical roots are just buried very deep and far away.”_

Bellerose paused to take a deep breath and sigh.

 _“That was…my fault, I am afraid. I broke tradition after fleeing Malfoy Manor. I returned home to Bordeaux and…”_ She hesitated. _“…I remarried to a Muggle man, keeping the fact that I was a witch a secret.”_

“A Muggle?” Hermione leaned forward, a new spark having flared to life in her expression. Somehow, she never would’ve expected to hear a Pureblooded witch from such an old, noble family openly stating she willingly married a Muggle.

“And how did that happen? What happened to your son? Your husband? _You?!_ You’re raising more questions than I came here with!”  
Bellerose sighed and placed her tea on the iron table in front of her and stood to pace.

_“I see that. And I do have answers for you, but I must ask you something first: how much do you know about the curse?”_

Some of Hermione’s curious fire cooled a bit and was replaced with the faintest thought of caution.

“Ah…well…Draco and I have been researching quite a lot since last month. We know generally why it was enacted and when it manifests.”

She eyed the picture with a sidelong glance, recalling the list she and Draco made but not wanting to give away everything they’d learned.

“Also that the changes only take effect after sundown. Although, as I understand it, that was somehow altered over the years and not part of the original intent?”

Bellerose nodded.

 _“It was. The curse, as I created it, was to punish Rhydderch. It was… **dark** magic. There is no denying that. I transformed him into a beast dangling the key to his humanity within our wedding vows.”_ She scrunched her nose in a mirror image of the way Hermione often did. _“At least that is what was intended. The execution, however, was flawed and it became—well, it became what you have seen.”_

“It was foolish for you to have cast it in the first place!” The too comfortable admonishing tone snaked free of Hermione before she could stop it, chastising this very ancient picture of a very dangerous witch in a way that was very ill advised.

Bellerose narrowed her eyes and even from within the landscape, they glittered a dangerous molten gold.

The flames in the bedroom that were closest to the painting flickered.

 _“Watch your tongue, dear,”_ Bellerose said in a voice that may have been a snake’s warning rattle. _“I am still hundreds of years your elder and you shall respect that else you will have **NO** answers at all.”_

Hermione felt the harsh stir of the air around her. She set her jaw but only gave an acknowledging nod. She thought to reply but knew the words that lingered on her tongue would have been anything but polite.

 _“Now…”_ Bellerose smoothed her hands down the front of her dress, chasing away imaginary wrinkles on her immaculate gown and settling her turbulent mood at the same time. _“There are many places to begin but I think it may be best to first start with you.”_

“Me?” The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention and she stiffened. This seemed to amuse the other witch.

 _“Oui. You.”_ Bellerose paused in her slow pacing and pointed at the metal rose hanging around Hermione’s neck. _“The pendant: where did you acquire such a thing?”_

Hermione’s hand flew to the item in question, wrapping around it protectively. She mulled over the question, unsure if she wanted to answer. But if she didn’t…what was the point of her sequestering herself away with this woman’s captured memories? Steeling herself, she answered.

“It was my great-great-grandmother’s. My father gave it to me, he—” Hermione choked at the thought of him, at the act of speaking about him aloud and knowing he, too, was nothing but a memory now. She took a few breaths and cleared her throat before continuing. “He said it was meant to be passed down through the women of our family. And it wasn’t a rose before. It was a lily. It changed somehow. Dad said it’d been a—”

_“Fleur de memoire?”_

Bellerose watched as Hermione’s skin paled and she chuckled, drawing attention to the necklace that hung around her own neck in the painting.

_“It was mine. Rhydderch gave it to me as an engagement present. I changed its appearance and mine when I went into hiding.”_

Hermione frowned, absently thumbing the petals of the rose.

“Why not just get rid of it?” she asked.

Bellerose fiddled with her own version of the pendant, her eyes distant.

_“It was charmed to hold memories…feelings, emotions—like a locket but with thoughts. It would gather and store them so you would dream sweetly and sleep as soundly as if you’d taken a draught, but without their awful side effects. I had a penchant for nightmares. Rhydderch would have me wear it when we were together and he was being particularly…charming. It blooms when you sleep, you see. It releases bits and pieces of pleasant thoughts into your mind to soothe you.”_

She scowled.

_“Naive little idiot that I was, I didn’t understand that it was also a way to ensure I would not suspect what he was truly up to on his long nights away when he was not there to soothe the night terrors. After we consummated our marriage and I had our son, it never left my neck. Had it not held all the sweetest memories of my dearest son in its depths, perhaps I would have rid myself of it…but I could not simply toss it aside.”_

Hermione tugged at the necklace, trying to get a better look at it but the chain was still a solid set of links with no latch. All she accomplished was a series of ridiculous faces while trying to inspect the small flower.

“How do I get it off? No offense intended, but I’m quite through with dreaming your dreams.”

At that, Bellerose blinked and her head cocked to the side.

 _“What do you mean? It should come off without issue. There is a clasp like any other necklace which will remain until—”_ Her pacing halted, her brows shot up, and her mouth dropped open. _“Oh, no darling, you didn’t!”_

“I didn’t _what?”_ Hermione muttered, still mucking around with the chain and trying to find the clasps she referred to.

Bellerose approached the edge of the painting, her heels clicking swiftly across the stone patio until she was pressed as close as she could be to where the painted world and reality met.

 _“Have you been with that Malfoy man?”_ The question was something between gasp of disbelief and a hiss.

Hermione stopped. Her gulp was audible.

“What exactly do you mean when you say _‘been with?’”_

The older witch clasped both of her hands over her mouth. A curious excitement bloomed on her face and she let out a giddy laugh that sounded just shy of a concerning titter.

_“C'est magnifique! I do not know why I did not see it before. Of **course** you have—the way you two were dressed—”_

She did titter this time.

_“Perfect! You are **both** perfect!”_

Bellerose turned to her maid who was still lingering some ways away in the background of the painting.

_“Miss Babineaux! See to Mister Malfoy in the next room. I need to show Miss Granger something. I will need to speak with him shortly, but I need a moment longer with her, alone. Help to find him some clothing—go!”_

The maid dipped in a curtsy.

 _“Yes, right away, Mistress.”_ And she scurried from the scene in haste, leaving the two other witches alone.

Bellerose bounced on her toes, swishing her skirts about her legs as she twisted to and fro like an elated child while Hermione watched her, dumbfounded at the coaster of moods that belonged to the Lady of the House.

_“Come! You must see! This will answer many of your questions and help us both!”_

_‘Help us both? How am I supposed to help a painting…?’_

“H-hey! Hey, wait! Where are you going?”

Hermione braced her hands on either side of the carved frame, calling to Bellerose but she’d already began scurrying out of sight.

Bellerose seemed to remember herself at last, a subtle pink flush coloring her skin.

 _“My apologies, Miss Granger.”_ She giggled to herself and pointed at a beautiful piece of black opal that’d been expertly worked into the design of the room’s fireplace. _“Press and follow!”_

With that, she resumed her exit from the painted garden, heels echoing a moment before they were all at once gone.

The room dropped into silence again save for the steady crackles of the fire in the hearth.

Hermione blinked at the empty painting then the fireplace where Bellerose had indicated.

She blinked at the gilded entrance door of the bedroom and back to the fireplace once more, peering into the blue flames. Hermione thought about waiting to get

Draco but something in the back of her mind shuffled that thought away and dismissed it.

_It was fine._

_The maid would bring him soon._

_This was fine._

The little voice assured her of her safety and Hermione, who for the life of her couldn’t see any reason not to trust the voice in her head, pressed the dark stone Bellerose had pointed to. She watched in astonishment as the whole center of the fireplace began to slide backwards, the sound of grinding stone remarkably silent as it moved and swung back into the wall that housed it all until there was an opening where the flames once rested. When she bent to look at the new opening, she found another blue flame lit path that led to a set of steep spiral stairs leading down. Where that led to, she didn’t know but once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor.

After weeks of toiling over files and journals and diaries for a lead or even just an idea, actual **REAL** answers were only a dozen or so steps away. The choice was all too obvious and without any further hesitation she stepped over the threshold of the secret room with a huge grin plastered onto her face…completely oblivious to the muted thumps frantically beating on the magically muffled door behind her.

Hermione followed the staircase and it spit her out into the corner of a large room that reminded Hermione very much of the potions classroom at Hogwarts.  
Unlike the bed chamber and the rest of the uppermost level, this room was all stone—thick and hardy stone that was meticulously placed and fortress-like in how tightly it was sealed. 

The room was square like the one above it but decorative archways divided it into nine sections with the arches criss-crossing the room, supported by four central stone pillars. Each square pillar had vines just like those she’d seen on the doors to the West Wing etched deeply into the stone. On each of the four sides of each pillar, torches were mounted and they shed warm, blue light onto the simple furnishings nearby. A quick scan of the room led her to see that the only other passage in or out seemed that of a rounded oaken door on the wall catty-corner to the base of the stairs.

The door had a large iron ring for a handle and a small barred window in contrast. It was placed high in the center of the wood and there was a faint hint of light that shone through that as well. Hermione wondered if it led outside or perhaps through a tunnel or something else a bit further away. Her thoughts didn’t linger on it long, however, and she turned her attention back to the rest of her surroundings.

Lining the walls there were only a few windows that Hermione could see and each of them were narrow, barely there openings that lit in very little natural light. Heavy mounted shelves took up most of the free spaces not taken by windows. Atop these were many similarly sized glass containers housing a myriad of labeled ingredients as well as empty glass vials and flasks of varying sizes, shapes, and colors.

Straight ahead from where Hermione stood was a small sitting area with a pair of low-backed armchairs facing each other over top an expensive looking rug. Beyond that and next to one of the windows was a dark, wooden cabinet which was shut and locked with an iron padlock. To her right, stood two ancient tables with massive cauldrons set on top of cold burners, a handful of stools placed around each station. 

Even further in, past everything else and in the center of an assortment of bookshelves, was a sizable marble statue fashioned into the likeness of a delicate rose whose petals had yet to bloom. Its stem was thick, more akin to a tree trunk than a flower, and it twisted around itself again and again until its roots disappeared into the stone floor as though it’d grown out of it with nothing but ease.

Between the patterning on the columns and the doors and even this strange rose statue, Hermione had to give it to Bellerose: the woman picked a theme and stuck with it. She might have had a moment to think on it and contemplate how unsettling the intensity of her execution of such a theme was but Hermione’s attention drifted back to all the books surrounding her with their beautiful, wonderful, musty old smells.

By the looks of them, these books had to have been centuries old when Bellerose was alive, Hermione could only imagine the sorts of useful information housed in them all for her and Draco’s needs. _These_ must be what Bellerose wanted her to see.

Hermione moved towards them but was stopped short by a sudden and _loud_ grating sound from the center of the room—from the statue!

The moment she approached within a few feet of the rose statue, it began to move. The closed bud made a slow show of unfurling, the plates of marble shifting and opening to reveal deep red colored stone on the inside of each petal. The stones brightened, taking on a red glow that overtook all other light in the room and blanketed everything in a pale pink tint and a round mirror rose from the depths of the center of the statue. Balanced on the highest peaks of the rose petals, the mirror sat flat, displaying a pearl rim with runes etched into it that gleamed like molten gold.

At last, after the mirror had been lifted waist high, the cacophony of grinding stone ceased and was replaced with a steady hum of power that vibrated the dungeon-like walls.

_“You made it.”_

Hermione shrieked and whirled around towards the voice only to be met with a life-sized portrait of Bellerose on the wall closest to the sitting area she’d spotted earlier. How she missed the thing on her first once over, she had no idea, but the woman in the painting was in the same attire as before, smirking down at her with a glint in her eyes.

“S-sorry,” Hermione said. “I was just…what _is_ this place?”

Bellerose opened her arms in a welcoming gesture.

 _“Welcome to my hideaway! I would often come here to be away from my husband when we could visit while on holiday.”_ She sighed. _“It is ironic, is it not? I fought so hard to get him and once I had him, I was only ever trying to get away. But…to be fair, he was a bit…heavy handed.”_

Hermione frowned at the implication of that comment but found herself entranced by the humming statue behind her. She peered back over her shoulder at the still-glowing thing.

“And what is _**this?”**_ she asked when she finally couldn’t help herself any longer.

 _“That—”_ Bellerose clapped her hands with delight. _“—is my scrying pool! That is what I wanted to show you.”_

Hermione moved toward the object but chanced a glance back to the painting to offer a brief, scrunched look of distaste.

“Scrying?”

Bellerose quirked a brow.

_“You do not practice?”_

Hermione’s bushy curls bounced with how emphatically she shook her head.

“It’s rubbish!” The words left her before she could stop them and she tried to amend them quickly, figuring someone who had such an ornate device in their basement likely wouldn’t appreciate the insult. “Ah, wh-what I mean is…it’s very _imprecise._ There’s no definitive equation or rules or—or anything, really!” Hermione grimaced and grumbled, “That and someone once told me I lacked the mind for the art.”

Bellerose snorted.

 _“Well…that is indeed a shame. As a LeClair, it is something of a specialty. I suppose that is my fault as well, though.”_ She sighed again, folding one arm across her stomach to prop the opposite elbow in her palm. Bellerose drummed the fingers of her raised hand across her lips. _“No matter. I have confidence it will still work for you.”_

“What?” Hermione asked, incredulous. “You want me to look into it?”

She came up to the edge of the floral statue, tucking herself into a gap between the spread petals so she could more easily see into the mirrored surface. Hermione stared at her skeptical reflection and it stared back with pursed lips and impatience painting her features.

“All I see is me. _Just_ me. Is it like a Pensieve, or…?”

Bellerose rolled her eyes at Hermione’s obvious unwillingness to truly try. From her spot in the painting, she stood on her toes to peer over the other witch’s shoulder.

 _“In a way. The mirror will show you anything you wish to see: past, present, future—it is a very powerful tool and one that must be used carefully…sparingly. It is a family heirloom and will only work for those of our line. Even for a skilled seer, though, the images may not always be entirely clear._

_“In my experiences, present time is easiest to view as it is happening in the moment. The past may be more difficult depending on how long ago you seek. Sometimes those images come to you like muddied memories—this would be more like the Pensieve you are familiar with but often with less clarity.”_

Hermione couldn’t deny her interest was piqued.

As foolish as she thought divination to be, an enchanted scrying pool was all too tempting. Leaning closer to the mirrored surface, her intense curiosity got the better of her.

“And what of the future?” she asked.

_“The hardest of them all to see, of course.”_

Bellerose smiled softly and paced slow circles within her frame whilst fiddling with her pendant.

_“The future is uncertain and delicate. Some things will come to pass no matter what you do or don’t do to try and prevent them. When you glimpse into the future, the outlines are vague, names unsure. Having even the barest hint of knowledge of it is dangerous. Depending on what you choose to do with it, you could even alter that future you have seen.”_

Any levity that’d been in Bellerose’s tone disappeared.

_“I advise you never to use the pool for this.”_

Hermione looked back to Bellerose again, sensing something unspoken in the severity of that tone. 

“…what did you see?”

Bellerose let out a deep, tired sigh.

 _“This.”_ She gestured around her solemnly. _“My life with Rhydderch. That we would wed. That I would have a son. It was a smattering of images that, at the time, made me so very happy. I…I wanted it. I wanted these things so badly.”_

Bellerose shook her head and if there’d been a sheen of moisture building in the corner of her eyes, it was blinked away before anything else could come of it.

_“I allowed my hopeful dreams to lead my actions. I ignored the other signs around me and focused only on what I wanted to. I forced them into action, myself! It drove me to…to this. To what I am very sorry to say, you have become a part of.”_

The painted witch’s shoulders slumped, her face fell, and everything about this powerful woman’s demeanor was replaced with regret and resignation.

Hermione gazed at her, remembering the stolen memories of this ancestor of hers. She remembered the intense hurt and fury, the amalgamation of emotions that’d formed into one big lump of desperation that she’d felt when the curse had first been set into motion. She remembered it all and couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, even after the terrible things she’d done.

Hermione would never support those actions, but the soul shattering emptiness she’d held in her breast after waking from her dreams had chilled her to the bone then and it made all the more sense to her now.

“You said I could help us _both._ What did you mean by that? How?”

Bellerose sniffed and discreetly swiped moisture from her eyelashes.

_“Any questions you have of the past, ask the mirror. It will show you your answers better than I ever could describe. It will bring you understanding of what happened and, perhaps, then we can work to break the curse once and for all.”_

Hermione let her focus drift back to the smooth glass. Enthralled by the glowing patterns on the rim of its surface, she ran her fingers along them and the pearl edge. The pads of her fingertips stuck on the carvings and the shapes seemed familiar. Hermione searched her mind for translations to the ancient runes.

_The truth ye seek…_

_…I do keep…_

_…look beyond the surface and find them…_

She examined the reflection of herself and how crystal clear it was—how detailed. She was unable to pull her attention away.

“Pardon me, but…what interest do you have in breaking the curse now?” The question was lazy. Her eyelids drooped the longer she stared into the mirror.

_“A promise that I made to my son.”_

Bellerose smiled, watching Hermione’s head tip further forward towards the statue, though not quite close enough to touch. The young witch clearly didn’t even notice when the solid pane of glass rippled and shifted into a substance resembling liquid mercury.

Bellerose coaxed Hermione with the gentlest of voices.

_“Ask your questions of the past. It will tell you all you long to know. I will answer any that are left after you are through.”_

Hermione opened her mouth as though she were about to say something but merely nodded instead.

Mesmerized by the pull of the pool, she braced her weight against the marble petals surrounding the silver liquid that now floated above the rose statue.

She breathed an easy, relaxed sigh as the dozens of questions on her mind surfaced and the scrying pool tugged her second sight through visions of the past.

All the while, Bellerose watched silently, her smile broadening to something secretive and covetous.

Once she was sure Hermione was thoroughly engaged, she made to return to another of her portraits upstairs.

She needed to check on the girl’s consort and see what in Merlin’s name he was rattling the halls about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop touching magic things in really old magical houses! >:V
> 
> You'd think you're under some weird compulsory magical influence or something--gawd. (◔~◔)


	23. The Shame

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _  
_**Friday, February 16, 2001 – LeClair Manor** _  
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

"Granger!" 

_Pound, pound, pound._

"GRANGER! HERMIONE! OPEN THE DOOR!"

_“Is it your intention to wake the dead, Mister Malfoy? Because you are well on your way to doing so.”_

**_"YOU!"_ **

Draco turned, snarling in the direction of the accented voice and spotting a small rectangular picture hanging on the wall opposite the gilded door. 

“Where is she? What have you done with Hermione?”

Bellerose hummed, tapping her dainty fingers to her lips and looking all too pleased by his near frantic behavior. 

_“She is safe..."_ At his withering look, she teased, _“What? Afraid I was going to whisk her away to have my wicked way with her? I am just ‘oil and canvas,’ remember?”_

The wizard didn't appreciate the mockery coming from the painted witch and planted a hand on either side of her frame to bare his teeth more menacingly.

“WHERE is she?”

 _“Oh, that does not look good at all.”_

Bellerose ignored his question in favor of examining the sharp fangs inches away from the surface of her painting.

_“The beast has already begun to bleed through...”_

"Listen, you bitch—"

 _"LANGUAGE!"_ she snapped, eyes hard with all traces of her previous amusement gone. _"And YOU listen to ME: I am not your enemy and you would do well to remember that.”_

He growled and bared his teeth. 

"You're a _liar."_

She scoffed. 

_"I am many things, Mister Malfoy, but I hardly think a liar is one of them. Hermione is safe and unharmed and will remain so, so long as you listen to me. Your curse needs attention and it would be easier if you shut your mouth and paid attention—for all our sakes."_

Draco's jaw tensed and his nostrils flared as he reflexively scented the air. His brows shot up in surprise when he caught wind of a faint trace of roses and another heady fragrance that reminded him of Hermione, if not a bit heavier, that was most definitely coming from Bellerose's portrait. The fact that the object had any human scent in the first place, much less such a strong one, made the hairs on his neck prickle. The fact that the scent itself didn't trigger his instincts telling him that she was lying made him even more suspicious.

He didn’t trust her farther than he could toss her portrait.

"What _are_ you?"

Bellerose offered him a shrug.

 _"A woman who made mistakes? A witch who dabbled in the wrong things? Someone who didn't fully understand the consequences of her actions? Take your pick Mister Malfoy...any of them would be correct."_

When Draco lessened his threatening stance some, she motioned to the room he'd occupied earlier. 

_"Come. Let us speak privately a moment.”_

"I'm not going anywhere with you until I see Hermione." Draco's full blown snarl returned immediately.

 _"She is busy right now."_

When he didn't budge, she sighed heavily and rolled her eyes.

_"Miss Granger is viewing memories in my scrying pool and will likely be tied up for some time. She is a very curious one you know, reminds me a bit of myself..."_

"Then take me to her! Open the damn door and once I make sure she's untouched, _then_ maybe I'll listen to whatever bullshite you plan on feeding me!"

Bellerose's head ticked to one side and she took in the sight of the wizard before her.

His lack of dress offered an excellent view of every exposed bit of flesh above and below the rag barely covering his privates. He had a peppering of bruises on his chest and neck and several sets of partially healed nail marks that raked over the bulk of his shifting muscles. By the twitching of them, he appeared as tightly wound as a spring, ready to snap at her at any moment if she allowed it. 

Bellerose leaned forward in her portrait, her face growing larger in the frame the closer she came to the barrier and she raised a delicate hand to it as if to press on the wall between worlds.

_“Perhaps you should calm yourself and consider that I may be assisting you. And that you may not be the only one affected by this curse.”_

Her fingers brushed along the invisible wall between them and instead of stopping, they flexed against the canvas, making the side facing Draco bow outward in accordance with the gentle pressure she applied.

Bellerose’s painted image rippled like water, tiny rings growing steadily outward from each spot she touched until she retracted her hand. She looked at the pads of her fingers, a distinct frown dimming her expression as she rubbed together before glancing back up and taking in Draco’s wide-eyed and slack-jawed look.

_“Draco, come. I promise you, your love is safe, but we must speak so you understand what she is learning from the pool.”_

She disappeared from view then, her form exiting in the general direction of her son’s—Abelard’s—old room.

Draco stared at the empty spot in shock. So dumbfounded by what he’d just seen, he didn’t even think to dispute the claim she made about his and Hermione’s…affiliation.

All of his doubts and fears started to loom ever larger in his mind as he replayed what she’d just done.

Paintings—even enchanted ones—didn’t do that. They ** _couldn’t_** do that!

Captured memories didn’t have the lucidity that this woman did. They didn’t have conversations like the ones they’ve been having—they didn’t act as she did.

And they sure as fucking hell couldn’t even **_BEGIN_ **to push their way out of their own paintings!

Draco looked over his shoulder to the guest bedroom with narrowed eyes, resolving to find out what in the name of Merlin was going on.

Tromping into the bedchambers, he didn’t wait to pinpoint which picture she appeared in before gesturing wildly in the direction he’d just come.

“What the fuck was _that?!_ You expect to just—to do that and have me TRUST you?”

Bellerose cleared her throat from within the landscape painting her maid had visited Draco in earlier, not bothering to hide her look of displeasure at where it rested on the floor.

Draco spun to face her and fastened a deadly expression on her as soon as he caught sight of her tiny painted figure.

 _“If you would be so kind as to replace my picture to somewhere more appropriate, I will explain. I don’t care to look at your…bits during this entire conversation.”_ She sniffed and turned her head.

Draco’s growl intensified and it sounded entirely animal. Stomping over to the landscape, he squatted wide to retrieve it in a petulant show of resistance and snatched it off the floor with a rough yank to prop it atop the nearby dresser.

“There. Now talk.”

 _“It is good to know that the Malfoy clan has not become any gentler nor less insolent over the years.”_ Bellerose peered at him with an unkind side eye and took a seat on the grass, taking her time to arrange her skirt around her.

“You have about five seconds before I rip all your paintings to shreds with my bare hands and blast the remnants of this fucking manor to pieces. **EXPLAIN!”**

Bellerose doubted the claim of the latter half of his threat, but the first part concerned her well enough though she did well to give little away. Running her fingers through the neatly trimmed blades of grass surrounding her, she sighed.

_“My manor, yours, you, Miss Granger, my son…myself…we are all victims of this curse as much as my husband ever was. It wasn’t until it was at its worst that I realized it. Miss Granger—your Hermione—she told me some of what you have discovered about it, but I suspect the full range of its damage was ‘lost’ over the years.”_

Draco glared but seated himself on the edge of the bed.

“What are you talking about? There are dozens of journals and records in the Malfoy archives talking about it. It’s all the same shite that I’m going through now.”

 _“That is precisely what I am referring to,”_ she said impatiently. _“Records of how to cope with it written out for each generation but nothing on how to **stop** it, am I correct? It’s like a black spot exists in your records, is it not?”_

“You know how to stop it?” Draco’s stoicism in the face of this dangerous witch lapsed for just a second at the thought he might actually be able to stop these foul experiences.

 _“Of course I do,”_ she scoffed. _“Others of your ancestors did as well, but they apparently opted to avoid pursuing the solution and chose to hide or destroy this information instead.”_

“What? Why the fuck would they let this keep happening?!”

 _“Simple, Mister Malfoy: blood prejudice. It always comes back to blood.”_ At his confused expression, she continued, _“Long ago, when we learned the curse reared its head in my son, Rhydderch and I had to arrange Abelard’s marriage. As you may imagine, it was decidedly difficult to find a witch who would take vows with a monster under the reassurance that he would return to normal after…consummation.”_

Bellerose shifted on her spot on the grass and started plucking it out by the roots.

_“We had many conversations and had to Obliviate just as many from the memories of those who we sought to pair Abelard with after they heard our plight and vehemently turned us away. It turned out, however, that he had a woman he already fancied. A secret amour, if you will. Her name was Ellisandra and she was a most beautiful woman, inside and out.”_

At the mention of the girl, her face fell.

_“She was kind, absolutely brilliant, spirited, and most of all, she loved my son. She cared nothing for our money, nor our name—just **him.** He was convinced that she would never agree—that she would be too frightened, or that she would run, or simply that she was too good for him. Ellisandra was the key to my little boy’s humanity and Rhydderch…for all his usefulness, refused to even speak with her parents.”_

More confused than before, Draco couldn’t help himself from interrupting.

“Why the hell would he pass up the opportunity to break the spell?”

 _“She was a Muggle. Not a trace of magical blood in her family…at least that is the misconception. As I told Miss Granger, if one digs deeply enough, our roots are all connected in the end.”_ Bellerose shrugged. _“Be that as it may, you’ll find no traces of her in the Manor. Anything that may have cited her was undoubtedly purged long ago.”_

Perhaps, once upon a time— _three years ago_ —he would have scoffed and sneered at the thought of a Malfoy falling in love with a Muggle anything, but now that part he understood. It was the rest of it he couldn’t wrap his head around.

His own family had nearly lost their lives to the obsession of purity and his ancestors tossed away their humanity for it—what kind of insanity was this?  
Draco didn’t bother hiding his astonishment.

“You’re telling me you had the—the _cure_ in your hands and you did nothing?!”

Bellerose’s shoulders went taut and she raised her chin defiantly.

 _“No. **I** spoke with the girl.”_ Her face softened somewhat at the memory. _“I still remember how frightened she was when she saw me coming. Ellisandra—Elle—she was very understanding. She loved my son, you understand. Not the love that I thought I could wrench out of his father but real, **true** love. It was the sort that I’d always desired from Rhydderch._

_“Unlike my husband, she had no problem accepting what we were once she found out…no problem accepting my son. She jumped at the chance to help him and to help us however she could. She’d even agreed to forgo a proper wedding and leave a note for her parents saying she’d eloped. Poor thing…she would have loved for them to see her in her gown but—”_

Bellerose stopped herself. She swallowed. And then she drew whatever composure she could back into herself.

_“Mister Malfoy, she was a magnificent woman.”_

The way the witch’s attention drifted made Draco uneasy. He hesitated on his next question but asked it anyway.

“What happened to her?”

Bellerose was pulled from her thoughts and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, uncaring of the few tears that slipped down her cheeks.

_“They married and she bore the next Malfoy heir. It was…it was the final breaking point for my husband. He was displeased with the marriage but allowed it for the sake of our son’s humanity. When he set his sights on their half-blooded child, however…something in him snapped. He thought to punish us—to punish me, for ever enacting the curse and bringing such shame and tainted blood to the Malfoy line.”_

She wiped at her eyes with a forearm, the tears flowing more freely now and she stood from her spot on the grass to approach the barrier of the painting.

_“He **killed** her, Draco. He killed her and he did not make it quick. And he made our son watch. Her and my grandson both—Rhydderch destroyed them. And with that, he destroyed us all.”_

Draco had no words.

There weren’t any.

And if there were…he couldn’t find them.

Living with the Dark Lord made Draco privy to many disgusting, disturbing things, and to the punishments the wizard had seen to use against unsuspecting Muggle-borns for no reason aside from the fact they’d existed. Those memories alone outfitted him with the unpleasant ability to imagine exactly the sort of torture his ancestor was subjected to.

It made him recall Hermione’s screams from a scant few years ago where she’d found herself a guest of Bellatrix in his childhood home.

Draco shuddered and rose to pace in an effort to wind out the shrill screams of horror and pain that still rattled in his skull to that very day. Swiping a clammy hand down his face, he knew there was more Bellerose had yet to tell him. He knew he needed to know what else had happened.

He wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to know.

All he did know was that he needed his witch there. Now. Or at least before he spoke with Bellerose any more.

“I want to see Hermione. **_NO_ **more of any of this shite until after I see her.”

Bellerose looked at the young blond wizard standing before her, his shoulders with their slight tremble, his eyes wide and unsettled…and she nodded.

_“Oui. Agreed. She will have to open the door, but I will fetch her. Wait here. I promise you she is safe—I will be but a moment.”_

The beast inside his head snarled at the idea of more waiting and Draco had to close his eyes and force out a calming breath before he destroyed something. When he reopened them, his gaze was liquid silver and his teeth just shy of too large and too sharp to fit properly in his mouth.

“You have five minutes before I tear these walls apart.”

  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-..-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**  
  


Hermione bent over Bellerose’s scrying pool, her face submerged in the magical looking glass and her body poised over the rose-shaped statue while her mind soared through events of the past at a breakneck speed.

The images flashed, one after the other, blending together in some places and slowing down in others.

-._.--._.-._.--._.-._.--._.-._.-

_Two hands with palms facing each other, interlinked._

_One was small, pale, and delicate with a silver ring that held a large, expensive looking green gem set into its prongs._

_The other was massive and muscular and covered in russet colored fur with thick black nails topping each finger._

_"...love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep only to her as long as you both shall live..."_

_"—obey him and serve him, love, honor, and keep him..."_

_"...until death do us part."_

_"With all my worldly goods, I thee endow."_

_"...Mister and Missus Abelard Tristan Malfoy..."_

_A slim, dark haired woman smiled up at a big, broad shouldered beast._

_She combed a hand through the fur at his face, the other still entwined with his as thin magical chains hovered over their clasped hands and wove themselves in and around their fingers. The chains circled closer and closer until, at last, they dissolved into their skin._

_The coarse fur covering the beast had already begun to recede by the time his head dipped downwards and captured the woman’s lips in a searing kiss just shy of indecent before their two onlookers._

_Bellerose’s form sharpened into clarity and she gasped, watching the lifting of her son’s curse._

-._.--._.-._.--._.-._.--._.-._.-

_The dark haired woman sat on a small hill overlooking beautifully landscaped gardens, petting the soft petals of a lily while staring into the distance._

_"What ails you, Elle?" someone else asked._

_Elle looked up and offered a welcoming smile to the freshly revealed Bellerose. She scooted over to allow her room on the blanket she occupied._

_“Nothing. Just…thinking.”_

_Bellerose arched a fine brow and took the offered seat next to her._

_“What of? Come now, dear. I know that look. Has my son done something to displease you? I can speak with him if you need—they’re never too old for—”_

_“Oh, no!” Elle shook her head back and forth emphatically. “Not a thing! Abel is brilliant, actually! He’s been wonderful, simply wonderful! I just…”_

_“Mmhmm. Spit it out then.”_

_Elle looked to her lap, resuming the fiddling with her flower._

_“I am with child,” she said._

_The older woman’s eyes rounded in budding delight and she let out an excited squeal._

_“OH! Darling, that IS wonderful! But what is wrong—are you not happy?”_

_Elle looked to Bellerose and grinned, though it was gone as quickly as it’d come._

_“I am! I simply think that—well, I do not think your husband will be as pleased to hear this news.”_

_Bellerose’s own face fell, sobering at the girl’s words._

_“Ah…” She reached out to Elle, smoothing a comforting hand over her long, straight locks. Bellerose nodded and hugged her close with an arm around Elle’s shoulders. “As usual, your understanding of these complex matters is astounding.”_

_Elle nodded sullenly, resuming her distance gazing, tucked into Bellerose’s side. They sat like that for several long minutes with Elle looking wistfully into nothing and Bellerose so obviously thinking, searching, and plotting out a solution._

_“Here,” Bellerose said, breaking the silence. “I’ve an idea.”_

_Bellerose helped Elle sit back up and proceeded to fiddle with a chain at her neck. She unclasped the rose shaped pendant she always wore and set it in her lap while she pulled her wand from where she’d left it tucked inside her sleeve. Grasping the wood, she waved it over the pendant with a whispered ‘Geminio,’ and another identical necklace appeared beside it. With another wave of her wand, she muttered several other charms and spells over the necklaces in quick succession before holding up the original necklace for Elle to see._

_Elle looked on in wonder at what she’d just witnessed and Bellerose chuckled. Bellerose motioned for Elle to lift her hair so she could fasten the necklace around her neck and once it was secured, the chain warmed and its clasp disappeared._

_Elle gasped, barely restraining herself from trying to tug it off in a panic._

_“What just happened?”_

_Bellerose soothed the girl, easing her fears with soft coos and shushes before fastening the copy she’d made around her own neck._

_“Shh, do not worry. This will help to keep you safe. You can use it to call on me.”_

_“But…Mrs. Malfoy, I have no magic—”_

_“I know, darling, I know.” Bellerose tugged at the solid chain hanging about Elle’s neck. “This will remain solid while you are with child and no one shall be able to remove it from your neck. If you are in need of aid and my son is not there to protect you, call my name. Call for help— **will** it so! If anything happens at all, all you need do is call for me and I will be brought to you.”_

_“B-but what if you cannot come—what if something keeps you—”_

_“Unlikely.” Bellerose shook her head. “But…if I cannot, it will bring **you** to **me.** Use it if you feel you are in danger.”_

_Bellerose rubbed the girl’s arms reassuringly before cupping her cheeks and offering the most comforting smile she could._

_“I am sorry for all of this. For what you have been dragged into…I imagine it is nothing like what you’ve ever dreamed married life to be.”_

_Elle chuckled and it was a shaky, rattled thing. She swallowed and patted the hands on her cheeks that attempted to soothe her fears._

_“You…are not wrong. It is certainly nothing I ever expected. But I would not change my husband for all the treasures in the world.”_

_She smiled then, a bright, brilliantly happy smile._

_“I'm going to be a mother!”_

-._.--._.-._.--._.-._.--._.-._.-

Hermione gasped, head coming up sharply from the pool of silver liquid.

She trembled, hand seeking the pendant fastened around her neck, suddenly feeling very dizzy and out of sorts. 

_'Pregnant...no...no no no no.'_

She covered her face with her hands taking in deep breaths to try and settle her nerves.

This wasn't happening. 

She couldn't do this.

Not now and certainly not with him.

Leave it to Draco bleeding Malfoy to ruin all her carefully laid out plans for her future.

She froze. 

**_'The future...'_ **

Hermione eyed the scrying pool again. 

This could show her...it could give her an idea of what would happen at least. She knew Bellerose said not to but if she had to carry a Malfoy child she deserved to know what she was to expect—especially in light of all this mess.

Taking another deep breath, Hermione sidled back up to the glowing rose statue before speaking.

"What will happen to us—t-to Draco and myself?"

It took mere seconds of looking into the reflective surface before her consciousness was dragged under again, but this time the images that followed were broken and foggy.

. . . .

_Silver eyes full of wonder, confusion, joy, and fear looked up at her._

_Pale hands reached for her own._

_A broad smile took the place of a more familiar infuriating smirk._

_Those same hands from before lowered a bright silver chain around her neck, this one fitting more closely than the rose pendant she wore._

_An elegant sweep of silver curled around an oval shaped emerald, the dainty silver coil housing several tiny white sapphires that trailed up to where it hooked_

_around the chain. The emerald glittered in a mirror that housed her partially blurred reflection. A masculine pair of arms came into the picture and wrapped around her waist from behind. Their owner’s pointy chin came into focus as it rested on her shoulder and he nuzzled against her cheek._

. . . .

_Two figures around her: one to her side, the other slumped on the floor._

_Broken stones._

_Dark clothes._

_Blood—on the clothes, on her hands._

_Hands that shook, frantically pawing at the form curled on stone tiles._

_Red, growing to form a pool around a limp form._

_So much red._

_She was crying._

_She was sobbing—full body shaking sobs._

_She heard her name._

_Hermione._

_Hermione!_

**_"HERMIONE!"_ **

. . . .

Hermione shot up and away from the scrying pool, chest heaving, shuddering, tears streaking down her cheeks. She held a hand to her chest trying to calm her breathing.

_"Hermione? Dear, are you alright?"_

She recognized the voice of Bellerose and gulped in much needed air, wiping her face as discreetly as she could with the back of her arm. She settled herself somewhat before finally turning to face the life-sized painting.

"Fine. I'm fine."

Bellerose tilted her head as she always did and took in Hermione’s reddened eyes with the traces of moisture running in tracks over her cheeks.

 _“You are sure? You look…distressed,”_ she said, approaching the subject delicately.

“Y-yes. Thank you, though…for your concern.”

 _“Certainly.”_ Bellerose nodded, unconvinced, but she let it go. She knew if she dawdled much longer, the wizard upstairs may just make good on his promise to tear her manor apart. _“I know there is much to view, but Mister Malfoy would like to see you.”_

Hermione paled, finally realizing that she’d probably been gone for much more than the few minutes she’d promised him.

“Shite!”

She bounded up the stairs and through the hidden entryway in the fireplace, tearing across the space of Bellerose’s bedchambers to open the golden bedroom door. She half expected Draco to be waiting on the other side and, when he wasn’t, Hermione glanced around trying to seek him out.

“Draco?”

Having been wearing circles into the guest room’s rug, the moment Draco heard Hermione’s rushing footsteps and her voice, he shot out of the bedroom to meet her.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her presence until she was there again, standing in the hall and staring back at him.

A leaden weight lifted from his shoulders.

“Granger!”

Draco closed the distance between them in a scant few steps, hauling her into a vice-like embrace. She grunted when he hugged the air out of her but he paid it little mind as he took a deep draw of her scent and buried his nose in her hair.

“Draco—” she choked.

The hoarse call of his name brought him back to the present and he released his death grip, if only slightly. Planting his hands on her shoulders, he shoved her an arm’s length away and glared down into her gulping, gasping face.

“For someone so bloody smart, you’re stupid as shite!”

 _“Excuse me?”_ Hermione managed out between another set of coughs. She cleared her throat and her expression settled into something much more stubborn. “Now listen here, you oversized prat—!”

“What were you thinking, going with her?!” Draco ignored her building argument and flailed an arm in the direction of Bellerose’s room. In doing so, he caught sight of the strange passage opened behind the fireplace and he puffed up some more.

“We were just talking!” Hermione shouted.

 _“Talking?”_ Draco pointed at the newly discovered passage. “Going into some sort of secret bloody room and mucking around with an old bint’s scrying pool isn’t _TALKING!”_

Hermione blushed and smacked the hand he had still on her shoulder, off.

“Why do you care anyway?” 

She shoved at him, her plain irritation coming off her in waves. When he didn’t budge at all, she did it again to spite him. 

“For your information, we _DID_ talk and that _‘old bint’s scrying pool’_ may very well be the key to fixing your problem. _I_ was busy trying to put an end to this business between the two of us so you can get back to normal and we can just go back to hating each other properly! What were _YOU_ doing?”

Draco snarled and shoved her hard against the nearest wall in the hallway—so hard that the impact jarred some of the smaller paintings loose.

His eyes were a heated liquid silver, lip curled back in a sneer, and—if Hermione hadn’t known better—she would’ve suspected him of being about to throttle her. Instead of a blow, however, he lunged forward and kissed her.

Hermione gasped when she felt the firm press of his lips on hers and when she did, he took that chance to deepen the kiss. 

Draco coaxed her mouth open, swooping his tongue in to tease over the inside of her upper lip. She shivered and let out a faint whimper, melting into his arms that’d slid back down to her midsection, hooking her own around his neck.

Hermione felt his growl, low and lazy, rumble into her mouth and he squeezed her more tightly, pulling her closer and worrying her bottom lip between his teeth. She felt the sharp edges of fangs graze her flesh and split it, spilling a warm, salty, coppery tang onto her tongue. She gasped again when he suckled on it, his tongue stroking over the wound apologetically while he wrapped her in his arms. Hermione purred her acceptance of his apology and tightened her own grip around him.

One of Draco’s hands slipped under her tank top, splaying against her bare back while the other slid into the tangle of chestnut curls that made up her bushy mane. When he finally pulled away from her, Hermione’s face, neck, and chest were all flushed the sweetest pink, her lips were plump and swollen, and her eyes half-lidded. She looked very and thoroughly snogged.

Draco closed his eyes and rested his forehead to hers, expelling a great sigh that raised goosebumps on her skin.

“I was worrying you were _dead_ you frizzy-haired, bossy, buck-toothed bint…” His words lacked snark and venom and, instead, held deep notes of concern and relief.

Hermione shook her head and released the hold on his neck to run her fingertips down over his bare shoulders and chest, sweeping back around to his back where she rested her hands between his shoulderblades.

“I’m…I’m sorry, that I made you worry…you obnoxious albino brad.” She nudged his nose shyly with hers. “And my teeth were fixed, thank you very much.”

Draco kept his eyes shut but smirked, soothed by the soft circles she rubbed over his back. He reciprocated with the hand still at hers.

“Right. Now, if only we could find a way to fix that stuck up, prudish, know-it-all attitude of yours next…”

“Perhaps after we discover a way to remove all the loathsome, ignorant traits from your gene pool…”

"Bitch..."

"Git."

A soft _ahem_ interrupted their strangely endearing schoolyard banter.

_"Children? If you are quite through..."_

Hermione was swiftly drawn from Draco’s comfort and her attention snapped to the small portrait Draco had threatened when they were together earlier. She blushed again, now all too aware of the intimacy the other witch was witnessing between her and her companion and worked on extracting herself from his hold.

Draco was much lazier in his acknowledgment of the painted witch. He was also audibly reluctant to letting Hermione go, grumbling and growling as she untangled herself from his embrace.

Bellerose looked at the two of them and saw the most unconventional couple she’d personally seen—which said a lot. She cleared her throat again.

_"Allow me to try this again...it has been a great long time since I have had any company so perhaps my initial approach was overhasty. Why don't you both join me in my hideaway...together? We shall discuss our family."_

The witch had already begun moving paintings but paused long enough to pop her head back into view.

 _"Oh, and you may want to find yourselves some clothes as well. There should be some in the wardrobes of your respective rooms. Meet me downstairs when you are through."_ She made to leave again then paused once more to add, _"That is **not** a request."_

And then she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎤ヽ( ˘□˘ )ゝ ♩ ♫ ♪
> 
> Wiiiiise meeeeen say~
> 
> Only foooools rush iiiin~
> 
> But Iiiii can't help~
> 
> Falling in love with you~~~
> 
> (◞🎤 ˘□˘ )◞ ♩ ♫ ♪


	24. The Cursed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if it really counts or not for this chapter, but I'm going to say there's a **Trigger Warning: Mentions of Suicide Attempt** in this one.
> 
> I don't think it actually does count...but I'd rather just put it out there to be sure (to be sure).

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Friday, February 16, 2001 – LeClair Manor** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

Hermione and Draco reconvened in Bellerose’s hideaway room downstairs, Hermione having found a light shift that she pulled on over her tank top and shorts and Draco a pair of snugly fitting trousers and baggy tunic. It wasn't the epitome of style for either of them but it was at least a bit warmer.

Draco made his way around the secret room, eying the furnishings that were still covered in the soft pink glow of the scrying pool while Hermione stood in the sitting area near Bellerose's painting.

"Why is this all down here hidden behind a wall?” she asked.

_"I did not enjoy being disturbed in my work. It was most delicate and Rhydderch had no sense for subtlety. Not to mention he hated me, so I moved it somewhere he could not reach and behind a door no Malfoy could open.”_

Draco paused his tour near one of the cauldrons in a corner. Peering into its depths he sniffed, a bit surprised when he could still detect the smell of potions long-since brewed. A few more careful sniffs and he was able to pluck out some faint notes of frankincense and beetroot—two ingredients that he’d become very familiar with over the course of the war.

Draco tore his way across the room back to Hermione, taking up a spot between her and the full-sized painting of Bellerose.

"And just what kind of ‘work’ were you doing that required you to brew blood replenishment and pain potions?” he growled. “Planning on going into battle?" 

The only indication Bellerose was at all impressed was the way her delicate eyebrows twitched up. She didn’t remark on it, though.

 _“Are you still going on about me being untrustworthy, Mister Malfoy?"_ Bellerose gave him a pronounced sigh. _"What must I do to convince you?"_

"For starters you can tell me what that was upstairs."

"What happened?" Hermione interjected, taking a place back at Draco’s side instead of at his back, much to his displeasure.

Draco eyed Hermione and snarled in the direction of the portrait.

"She was pushing her way out of her painting is what!" 

It was then that Draco realized that this particular painting he was shouting at showed the woman at her full stature…her full, real, _life-sized_ height in all its glory and detail. He tucked Hermione behind him again and bared his sharpened teeth at the other witch.

"Is that why you dragged us down here? Planning on stepping through the looking glass? Bugger that shite. C'mon Granger, we’re getting the hell out of here." 

Draco grabbed Hermione’s wrist and wasted no time in dragging her back towards the staircase.

 _"Wait!”_ Bellerose shouted. _“Please wait!"_

He didn’t bother halting his steps, just continued ushering Hermione towards the stairs.

"Fuck off!” Draco snapped. “Hermione, let’s go.”

_"Please! Just let me show you one final thing. If you still feel no reason to trust me, you can leave.”_

“Draco!” Hermione resisted his prodding and pushing, half-turning to him on the steps though his insistence didn’t cease. “Draco, stop! How are we even going to get home?”

“I don’t know! But we can’t stay here—"

_“Abelard’s fireplace is connected to the Floo Network!”_

That did cause him to stop. Both of them did.

Draco finally turned back to the portrait, his body firmly lodged between all easy paths to the small witch behind him. His glare was deadly and clear: she had one chance to convince him of her honesty.

“Bullshite,” he snarled.

Bellerose drew to her full height with a deep breath, chin up, head high, looking every bit the regal woman she was once upon a time.

_“As you may understand, access to Malfoy Manor had been cut off a long time ago but you should still be able to take it to any major location. There is bound to be some powder still in his room, if not, then in mine. Either way, you can take it home. But, before you go, I would show you one more thing: the solution to ridding our family line of the curse.”_

Draco sneered but Hermione gasped.

“Draco,” she whispered.

“And you couldn’t have **_led_ **with that?” Draco’s voice was hardly anything beyond a raw, snarling threat anymore.

Bellerose pointed to the heavy barred door on the opposite end of the room with its soft light filtering through the small window.

_“It lies just beyond that door.”_

Draco’s gaze followed the line of her gesture and the look on his face was one of near painful incredulity.

“The cure is in the **dungeon** of a cursed mansion? **OH, FUCK YOU!”**

“Draco!” Hermione hissed in the most persistent of whispers. 

Her hands soothed down the tight line of his back where all his muscles bunched in anticipation of destroying something— _anything._

“We should at least _look_ at it before we go…we’ve come this far,” she said.

He whirled back around to face her, this time setting his incredulous stare on her. When he caught sight of her face, she was looking longingly at the door and precisely nothing about her demeanor seemed right at all.

“Are you **_DAFT?!”_ **

Draco cupped either side of her face and made her look at him, getting an eyeful of glittering gold irises that had the hardest time focusing on anything but that door. 

**“Shite** —we’re leaving! I’ll carry you if I have to.”

He resumed his attempt to climb the stairs with an extremely reluctant Hermione more solidly rooted than he thought was possible.

Bellerose persisted. 

_"But what of your curse, Mister Malfoy?"_

"I'll fucking deal with it!"

Draco had Hermione reluctantly moving when Bellerose’s next words rang in his ears and stopped him dead in his tracks.

_"And what of your child? Would you allow him to suffer your same fate if you cannot find him a wife in time?”_

The trance-like state Hermione had been in broke at her words.

The spots of gold cleared from her eyes and in their wake a betrayed look took up residence. Hermione set it firmly on the image of Bellerose who was looking not all that regretful at all after spilling news even _she_ hadn’t had time to process.

It took Draco a moment to understand what the witch just said—what she was implying.

_‘She **can’t** mean—’_

When he saw how the color had bled out of Hermione’s face and witnessed the tumultuous emotions barely contained in her angry glare at Bellerose’s portrait, he knew.

His snarl lessened and his eyes grew wide, darting from Hermione’s face to her belly and back again.

“Ch-child?”

Hermione was startled by the soft astonishment in the single word, so different from the gruff ragged tone he’d used toward their hostess up to this point.

She blinked up at Draco and saw how he looked at her—she saw and it scared her.

She was afraid of the secret that’d just been let out.

She was afraid of his reaction if she confirmed it.

She was afraid of _it_ —of him? Her? She couldn’t know what it was yet…but thinking of it as an ‘it’ seemed wrong, too.

Hermione swallowed but it was Bellerose who spoke and broke the silence that’d fallen between them.

 _“Yes, Mister Malfoy.”_ Bellerose’s tone was just shy of patronizing. _“That is often what happens when one takes a woman to bed.”_

"You…” Draco hadn’t stopped staring.

Hermione’s bottom lip began to tremble but she set her jaw and nodded, answering with more strength than she felt. 

“...y-yeah..."

"So, I—we’re...?"

Another nod. 

"Yes."

Draco hadn’t stopped staring but he was sure he’d stopped breathing. He must have, because the next breath he took felt as though he hadn’t tasted fresh air in ages.

A baby.

They were going to have a _baby._

Together.

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy.

These facts rolled around in his head and he had no idea what he was supposed to think—what he should feel.

No. Fucking. Clue.

He hadn’t even managed to get her out on a proper date, yet he’d knocked her up and saddled her with a centuries old curse in no time flat.

_'Way to go, Draco, old chap. Two for fucking two. Merlin-damned wanker.'_

"Draco?" Hermione’s voice was small and meek.

His attention snapped back to Hermione who was staring with her bravely set jaw and her shoulders doing their best not to tremble for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold chill of Bellerose’s secret room. A fierce protectiveness welled in his chest at the sight. She’d always been a proud woman, one that had an answer for anything and something to say about _everything,_ and yet here she was, stunned into near silence with worry and doubt etched over every inch of her face.

Draco tugged her close, wrapping her in his arms and smoothing a hand over her mass of curls. He felt her shudder and a shaky breath danced over the skin of his neck as she tried to disappear into his embrace. The beast in his head champed at the bit, eager to surface and rid the world of whatever creature was the source of its mate’s distress. For once, Draco was wholly on board.

Tucking Hermione’s head beneath his chin, Draco’s gleaming silver glare blazed in the direction of Bellerose and his growl vibrated against the woman hidden against his chest.

“I don’t give two shits about whatever is in your bloody dungeon,” he began, his tone leaving no room for argument and promising a most unpleasant demise to any who would. “You want me to trust you? Tell me how to lift the curse without the runaround. I’m not going to ‘fetch this’ or ‘go there’ or look at any any mystical fucking objects. Here and now: **how do you break the curse?”**

He felt Hermione’s head turn toward the painting, also waiting for an answer.

Bellerose gnawed at the inside of her cheek, pinned by two very angry sets of eyes. The muscles in her jaw and neck worked as she seemed to consider her options.

At last, she nodded.

 _“Very well,”_ she agreed. _“You must kill the originators of the curse.”_

Hermione nudged free of Draco’s hold just enough to see the painting more clearly.

“Kill them?” she asked. “You mean you and Rhydderch? But, if we’re to kill you then that means that you both are—”

_“Very much alive.”_

This fact and the validation of several of Draco’s suspicions set him off again. He gripped Hermione more tightly, edging her away from the painting once more.

“I fucking **_KNEW_ **it!” He snarled, jabbing an accusatory finger in Bellerose’s direction. “I **_KNEW_ **you were hiding something like this!”

Bellerose sniffed.

 _“Shall I lead with **that** next time?”_ she asked, mocking his earlier sentiment.

Draco finally released Hermione to stalk towards the painting with a sneer that flashed sharp rows of fangs.

“If I’d known the cure was that easy, I would’ve shredded your stupid painting from the moment I saw you!”

_“Don’t you dare!”_

Bellerose slammed her hands against her side of the painting and the canvas bubbled and bowed out towards the room Draco and Hermione occupied.

Hermione gasped, seeing exactly what Draco had been talking about, firsthand.

The painted witch snatched her hands back from the wall between worlds as though it’d burned her and she folded her hands at her chest instead.

_“What I **mean** is if you shred them, then you’ll have NO way of breaking the curse.”_

“You’re still a liar,” Draco said, looking for something sharp enough to cut through the canvas showcasing her enchanted figure.

**_“If you choose to believe nothing else I say, you insolent boy, believe this!”_ **

Bellerose’s voice boomed, shaking the walls of the manor itself and sending several ingredient jars tumbling from the room’s shelving and scattering shards of glass.

_“If you destroy this portrait, you will be unable to kill me and break the curse! These pictures, these frames, they’re gateways—the smaller ones windows and this one…this is the only one I can return through. I have been imprisoned for centuries, halted in time just like the rest of this house thanks to the magic I’d afflicted upon us all.”_

Hermione had only a frigid glare to give the other woman.

“How did this happen?” she asked. “How are you alive? You said you would answer the questions I had left after looking into the pool but, as before, you’ve only just raised a HELL of a lot more!”

Bellerose smoothed the folds of her gown and tried to look as dignified as one could in front of a firing squad.

_“Rhydderch and I…we made a bond of blood before taking our vows. It was the only way I could make sure he wouldn’t simply try to have me killed after we wed. With the bond, we couldn’t travel far from one another for long without suffering fatigue…in worse cases, pain, delirium. It also meant we would be unable to seriously harm the other. Most importantly, it meant one could not die without the other following soon after._

_“Our marriage vows would have still held true and unbroken if either of us had perished and so then would the curse. He would have been free of his beast and I…well, we know what he would have done to me with hardly a second thought. Taking a blood oath meant being unable to exist without the other. With Rhydderch not so eager to die and myself refusing to take our vows without it…well…here we are.”_

Draco plucked up one of the larger shards from the fallen jars and brandished it with a sneer in the direction of the portrait.

“That’s a lot of effort to go through for someone who so obviously hated your guts.”

Bellerose returned his sneer with a presence and ferocity that could put an entire Malfoy line of them to shame.

_“I was an obsessed young fool, Mister Malfoy. Age tends to mature your perspective. I’ve had centuries.”_

Bellerose began pacing within the confines of her frame, one hand moving to close around the rose pendant hanging from her neck. Centuries of history, of all that had occurred, of all the things she’d so urgently needed to tell someone and hadn’t been able to thanks to being trapped for so long came pouring out.

 _“After Ellisandra had the child, Rhydderch punished my son and I. He denounced me as his wife, but in doing so, the monster returned—with a vengeance. The beast he had become then was different than the one you know.”_ She gestured at Draco. _“Abelard and I sought refuge here. **Here** is where we discovered how to lift the curse I laid upon our family. Wh-when he found out—he was so distraught. The thought of losing his wife, his child, and his mother—especially so close together?”_

Bellerose shook her head.

_“It had to be done…but Abelard desired revenge. So we lured Rhydderch here…to the dungeon beyond that door. …but we were foolish. Abel wasn’t strong enough to kill the thing Rhydderch had become and neither was I. The beast that I’d created, he—”_

The witch stopped her pacing, her voice stuck in her throat. The words balanced on the tip of her tongue and it took a long, steadying breath before she could say them aloud.

_“Rhydderch fatally wounded my son. I tried everything I could to destroy him but nothing was strong enough against the dark magic fused into what I’d made…so I did the only thing I could think of to do: I locked him in stone with a spell as dark as the one I’d used to steal his humanity.”_

“How convenient,” Draco hissed. “And you didn’t think of offing yourself, then?”

Bellerose let out a frustrated sigh and raked her hands over her face, opening her arms to them both.

 _“Do you not think I tried?! A blood bond does not bend for weak links! It roots within the strongest host and spreads the wealth to any weaker than it until the line runs strong and true! When he became this unstoppable beast, apparently, so did I. I researched for…a **long** time trying to find a way to destroy him, but I was all alone. I tried to leave this mess I made and move on, to start over…”_ She glanced at Hermione. _“…but it seems that was not meant to be either.”_

Hermione folded her arms.

“What? Did you trip and fall and curse some Muggles this time?” she snapped.

The older witch had the decency to look ashamed at last.

_“They tend to grow suspicious when one does not age at the same rate as those around them. And with Rhydderch imprisoned as he was, I was not sure what that meant for me. It was impossible to say, so I left behind another life and returned to this…”_

Bellerose cast a long, sullen look at the heirs of both bloodlines that she’d failed and heaved a great sigh, waving a limp gesture at the space that was her own prison.

_“All my research led to one final spell but the magic was beyond me. It was blind in its punishing fury and it unleashed itself on this house, on Rhydderch…on me.”_

Hermione took a few, careful steps back down the staircase and shifted her focus from the painting to the dungeon door. Her voice was low and firm when she spoke, still tinged with anger from the unwelcome reveal to her companion.

“And Rhydderch? He’s just been here all this time?”

Bellerose wrung her hands together and bit at the edge of her lip.

_“He has. He has been entombed in his stone shell, as alive as I am…and likely **very** angry, just beyond that door. His statue is kept in an alcove on the apposite wall of the entryway behind another set of heavy iron bars.”_

An entirely out of place, hint of excitement wriggled its way into her voice.

_“With you both here, we can end this once and for all! You can make us flesh again and destroy us both. Surely, you can find a way! Then you will be free and I can finally rest!”_

Hermione shot Bellerose another glare but Draco spoke before she had the chance.

“That sounds awfully optimistic,” he said. “And still far too convenient.”

 _"I hardly think it is very 'convenient' considering I am one of the ones that has to die."_ The bitterness was more than evident in the witch’s tone.

Draco walked close enough to the barred dungeon door to peer through its window. From his vantage point, he couldn’t make out much other than the narrow beams of light trickling in from small openings on the ceiling, though he did catch the edge of what he thought was a stone hallway. It looked like it might open into a larger room but there were chunks of stone and debris cluttering his view. 

There was also a presence nestled back near that hallway that made his hair stand on end and the beast in his head growl in warning.

"We're not going back there,” he stated. “But I'll tell you what we _are_ going to do."

One of Bellrose’s eyes twitched but she straightened and merely waited for Draco to continue.

“Granger, come over here,” he beckoned and Hermione padded to him quietly with far less argument than he’d anticipated. 

Once at his side, Hermione’s eyes immediately locked onto the spines of the ancient tomes tucked into the shelving nearby. Draco caught the thinly veiled hunger in her expression and indulged himself in a smirk among all the lunacy. Pointing to the tomes in front of him, he spoke again to Bellerose.

“You want trust? I’ll consider it after we have a look through these ourselves. You said you and your son researched how to break this spell? We’ll do our own search through the archives to see if your story checks out. If you’re not lying, then everything should be here, shouldn’t it? Maybe if it is, **then** we’ll talk about trust.”

Bellerose looked at the man who now had his arms folded across his chest and staring back with a snotty smirk that reminded her all too much of her husband.

“Well?” Draco asked.

She forced a wry smile that didn’t come close to meeting her eyes and swept an arm across the space before her, gesturing to all that surrounded them.

 _“Please. Help yourselves,”_ she said. _“There is not anything I could do to stop you anyway, is there?”_

Neither Draco or Hermione gave her any acknowledgment beyond raiding her bookshelves, picking tomes and journals from their homes, and generally snatching anything that seemed even remotely interesting.

It took many minutes for them to finish, but once both had arms brimming with books, they seemed satisfied.

Draco moved around Bellerose’s bottled ingredients until he found a small canister of floo powder and balanced it on his stack. The pair of them made to leave at last, arms full of treasure, but Bellerose piped up again as Hermione passed.

_“Miss Granger…Hermione…I am sorry—”_

**“Don’t,”** Hermione snapped and glared as best she could over top her books. “Apologizing doesn’t negate what you did. You had _no_ right to tell him before I could—before _I_ could even think about it! We may be back after going through all of this but, in the meantime, you can just sit and spin and add a few more things to think about while you’re trapped in there.”

With that, she turned back to the staircase and tromped up the steps with Draco following close behind.

Upstairs, in Abelard’s room, Hermione helped Draco re-balance his load of books, huffing at the mess he was making in trying to help.

“Dammit, Malfoy, just let me!” she hissed and yanked everything from his grasp to mix them in with her own.

Draco snorted but left her to it, moving to rummage around in Abelard’s wardrobe to retrieve a heavy cloak he’d spotted there earlier. 

Every bit of him was itching to talk to her more about…the _news_ Bellerose clued him into. Blessedly, he had enough sense to know that now _wasn’t_ the time.

“That’s the Granger I’m used to,” he mumbled, tossing the cloak onto the bedspread and yanking the flat sheet from its spot to begin folding it down into a smaller square.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, still fussing and working very intently on not looking in his direction.

“Nothing,” he said, and, for the moment, Hermione was content to let it be.

When the silence began to stretch, Draco peered up from his self-designated task to watch her book wrangling.

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” he asked.

Hermione paused and it was her turn to shrug.

“…I don’t know. Maybe…I still have questions.”

“You always have questions,” Draco replied immediately, though not with malice.

She allowed herself a smirk.

“True…but, if events unfolded as she says, who continued the Malfoy line? If Abelard and his…” Hermione stumbled over the next. “…child were killed…how did your family move on?”

Draco padded to her and coaxed the tomes from her hands, arranging them in the middle of the neatly folded square he’d made with the bedsheet.

“Honestly? It could have been any one of the bastards he undoubtedly left in his wake before the bint collared him down. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard of it since going through the records. It seems ‘Pureblood’ is a rather fast and loose term when necessary.”

Hermione quirked a single brow in disbelief and Draco shrugged again, tying the corners of his makeshift satchel together and hefting the whole thing up by the knot with one hand.

“There. That should make it a bit easier to carry.”

Their previous conversation forgotten, Hermione smirked at how proud he was of his little invention.

“Draco, how positively Muggle of you.”

He huffed and ushered her toward the fireplace.

“Come on,” he grumbled and handed over the satchel of books. “She said there was no access to the Manor but maybe we can get to The Ministry or something.”

“Like _this?”_ Hermione motioned to the clothing they were wearing with her one free arm. “That clearly won’t raise an ounce of suspicion, _especially_ when I’m supposed to be on leave from the office.”

“Like they’d question you coming into work on your day off.”

Her face scrunched in the way it did when she was _most_ irritated by his commentary.

“Fair. But _with_ you? It might raise a few questions if anyone saw us together dressed like this. And we have enough attention from the media separately as it is.”

Draco felt that pang of possessiveness in him again. Maybe it was the beast, maybe it was just him, he wasn’t sure anymore…and he wasn’t sure he cared. People would need to learn either to mind their own business or get used to it…but it was an argument for later.

He wrapped the cloak he’d taken from the wardrobe around her shoulders and ran his hands over the heavy wool.

“You go first. I’ll give you a few minutes then follow after you. That way, nobody has to see us together.”

Hermione completely missed the bitter note to his tone and nodded.

"That should work."

“Right…here goes, then.”

Draco took a handful of floo powder from his pilfered jar and tossed it into Abelard’s hearth.

“The Ministry of Magic!” he shouted and green flames flared to life.

Hermione held her breath and with arms wrapped tightly around the bundle of books, she jumped in.

With a roar in her ears and a flare from the fire, she felt herself pulled through the Floo Network. Undefined space and disembodied fireplaces whizzed past her head and, if a floo trip could be long, it felt like an eternity. At last, she was spit out into a familiar fireplace-lined Atrium.

Hermione found her footing easily enough but when she looked around, she was shocked to find that there didn’t appear to be anyone coming or going, which was utterly strange for that time of day.

 _“Hermione?”_

A voice she hadn’t heard in months made her snap her head around to find another familiar sight: bright, green eyes blinking at her from behind a round pair of spectacles and belonging to a lean, male figure clad in Auror’s robes.

_“Harry?”_

Harry Potter brightened and a wide smile bloomed on his face as he smiled down at his best friend. His robes billowed behind him as he made his way to her, enveloping her in a tight, near bone-crushing embrace that lifted her off her feet.

The sudden hug caught Hermione by surprise and she choked out a breath.

Harry set her down at once, running his hands over her arms fondly and blushing a bit.

“Sorry! It’s just so good to see you!”

Hermione recovered from the sudden appearance of her friend, unsure of exactly how to feel at seeing him. It wasn’t as though they didn’t work in the same building. He could have visited her at any time—Merlin knew that McLaggen seemed to have no problems doing just that and he was also normally stationed in the Auror’s department.

“I’m here every day, Harry.” Hermione frowned.

The red in Harry’s cheeks deepened and he dropped his hands from her, scratching at the back of his head sheepishly.

“I know…and I’m really sorry. I just wasn’t sure how to…uh… _deal_ with everything between the two of you. Y’know… _afterwards.”_

“How **_you_ **had to deal with everything?” Her expression darkened.

Harry held up both hands in a placating gesture, backpedaling in the face of Hermione’s growing ire.

“N-no, what I mean is just—I had to see Ron more—”

He sputtered when he saw her eyes narrow and waved his hands in desperation, shaking his head.

“No. You know what? Nevermind all that. I was a shitty friend and I’m sorry. Can you please forgive me, Hermione?”

Hermione scowled, her decade-long friend now looking at her with big green puppy dog eyes that worked on his wife whenever he got into trouble but had never worked on her. The idea that he was even trying tricked a snort out of her.

“Harry James Potter, you put that rubbish away!” She freed a hand long enough to jab at his chest with her strongest prodding finger. “I’m still mad at you!”

When his face fell, she rolled her eyes and sighed.

“But…I’ll forgive you…you nitwit. But don’t you _dare_ think you can get away with ignoring me like that again or, so help me, I’ll pull a page from Ginny’s book of punishments!”

Hermione took great satisfaction in the way he blanched at that particular threat.

“Now…where is everyone?”

At her question, the jovial air thinned and Harry gave her a concerned once over.

“What do you mean where is everyone? …are you alright?”

Hermione blinked back at him like he was daft and brushed aside the hand that came up to feel her forehead.

“I _mean,_ where is everyone? It can’t even be five yet, was there some kind of meeting I missed?”

Harry’s brow furrowed.

“Hermione, it’s ten o’clock.”

When she still looked puzzled, he elaborated.

“At _night._ I just finished catching up on some paperwork and was about to head home. Are you _sure_ you’re alright?”

Hermione was positive it was still light out when they left. She very plainly recalled seeing the sunlight streaming in from one of the windows across the hall.

“Ten o’clock?! How—”

Her eyes grew wide as saucers as the realization struck.

_…I have been imprisoned for centuries, halted in time just like the rest of this house…_

The West Wing wasn’t the only thing locked in time from the backlash of Bellerose’s magic, the very space and time around where it all happened was as well.

They’d lost an entire day’s worth of time and had barely even realized it!

But that also meant that—

 _“Draco!”_ Hermione blurted his name at her second shocking realization that he was due to come tumbling through the fireplace behind her at any moment well after dark.

“What?” Harry’s face twisted in confusion.

“Nothing!” Hermione squawked.

She gave him a half hug and pushed him towards one of the outbound gateways.

“Nice seeing you again, Harry! Let’s have lunch soon, okay? You should really be getting home to your family now—bye~!”

“Wha—”

Harry tried to push Hermione’s hand away from his back as she kept shoving him as hard as she could towards the departure line but she would replace it just as quickly when he did.

“Hermione—Hermione, _stop!_ Stop it!”

He dug in his heels, trying to turn and set eyes on the very insistent witch that kept pushing him as far as she was able.

“Stop! What’s gotten into you?”

Before she could even try to reply, a brilliant flare of green flames came from behind her.

 _“Potter?”_

_“Malfoy?”_ Came Harry’s equally bewildered reply.

Hermione _did_ have just enough time to turn and catch Draco’s gaze with her own frightened stare right before he sank to his knees and a strangled cry of pain wrenched its way free from his throat.

Hermione watched in horror as the curse took hold of him quicker than she’d ever seen, the magic behaving as though it were some magnificent pressure built up behind a cork that all released at once.

Draco couldn’t even begin to stifle the noises of anguish spilling from his lips, the sounds transforming into snarls and growls more befitting his growing chest that was straining and tearing his borrowed tunic to pieces. Along with it, the already snug trousers ripped to pieces in the wake of thighs and calves that thickened with slabs of muscle and morphed into canine-like hind legs. Deadly claws were the proverbial icing on the cake, erupting from his fingers and toes and digging into the tiled floor he scrabbled out in his haze of pain.

“What the bloody hell?!” Harry had his wand out and aimed at the writhing creature that, moments ago, he was certain had been Draco Malfoy.

Amid the pain and transformation, Draco’s head flicked up and he bared lengthening fangs at his old school rival, the threat made more pronounced by the loud, echoing cracks coming from his face as it stretched and reformed into something much more bestial.

_“Stupefy!”_

“Harry, no!” Hermione dropped her satchel of books, hands splayed toward Draco in a panic.

The streak of red light zipped right for the monstrous form and found only a formidable shield in place.

Harry’s eyes widened even more, just before his own spell rebounded back on Hermione’s sloppily conjured panic shield to hit him square in the chest and send him flying into one of the arch supports behind him.

Hermione had little time to see to her friend because a large shadow stretched over her form. When she turned to look, she saw its beastly owner peering at her with eyes that held little-to-none of their normal human awareness.

 _“Oh…bollocks…”_ She froze, hands still outstretched from where she’d been able to shield her unfortunate lover.

The beast’s lips were curled back to expose a deadly mouth of fangs in a show of warning. Silver eyes narrowed to slits, tracking every minute movement Hermione made with a predatory stillness. She could hear her blood—her heartbeat—rushing in her ears and tried to keep from hyperventilating.

Hermione’s eyes—and only her eyes—darted between the departures line and Harry who was just now shaking himself into a better state of consciousness. And drawing the beast’s attention.

“Harry,” she whispered in warning, wincing when the beast’s ears flicked forward and a low growl rumbled free of its chest. She gritted her teeth, speaking as non-threateningly as possible, “When I say ‘go,’ you take that bundle of books and floo to my flat. I’ll meet you there.”

**_“What?”_ **

Draco snarled, moving onto all fours yet still managing to tower over the both of them with his broadened frame. He let out a louder, more immediate growl, eyes fixed once again on the petite witch as his weight shifted on the balls of his feet, clawed hands flexing in a way that suggested he was ready to pounce.

“Harry Potter, if you say _‘what’_ one more time, I’ll cut your tongue out of your head!”

Draco leapt at the sound of her shout but she was ready for him.

**_“DEPULSO!”_ **

A surprised yelp tore free from Draco’s beastly body and he went flying into the frame of one of the arrival gates, hitting hard enough to break several of the stones free and send it crumbling around him.

Hermione’s eyes remained huge, concerned for Draco only long enough to realize that he was absolutely fine.

And that he was _absolutely_ turning to her again with something wicked gleaming in those eyes.

 ** _“SHITE!_** GO, Harry! NOW!”

Still somewhat dazed, Harry operated on pure instinct.

Months of being on the run with only Hermione as his companion, trusting her implicitly because they were friends— _best friends_ —because she always knew better, because she was the most capable witch he’d ever live to know— _because their lives depended on it_ —meant all he could do was follow her command.

Harry scrambled to gather the satchel and the tomes that’d come loose and ran to a gate, calling out the location of her flat. He didn’t even get to look back until he was caught in the flames and, with the way the large beast was extracting itself from the rubble, he wished he hadn’t.

“Hermione!”

She spared him a faint, reassuring smile just before he was sucked away.

Sounds of falling stone snapped her attention forward once more to Draco who’d found his footing once more and was stretched out to his full height.

Black lips peeled back in a sneer that was so very reminiscent of the man she’d come to know and…more than tolerate.

Hermione’s brows set into a stern line.

"Draco,” she said.

An angry growl answered her.

She gulped and took a deep breath, channeling her bossiest of tones and holding her hands out to halt him.

 ** _"Draco Lucius Malfoy!_** You will **_stop_ **your growling at me or I'll never let you touch me _or_ our child!"

Those russet colored ears pricked forward, his sneer lessening although he still made to approach her again on all fours, his shoulders shifting fluidly beneath the prickled fur.

She arched an eyebrow at the slight change in his body language and peeked to her side. Lining herself up with one of the fireplaces, she grew hopeful when Draco changed his pathing as well. If she could get him to jump, she could get him back to the Manor, safe and sound.

“Did you or did you not hear what I just said?” she spat in response to his continued approach.

His growls stopped suddenly and his head cocked to one side not all that unlike a dog’s…a very dangerous, very deadly, _enormous_ dog.

Without moving any further forward, Draco extended his neck in her direction, that massive fanged muzzle bobbing as he sniffed the air, freezing when it caught the scent of something it deemed _very_ interesting.

Initially, pleased at the response, Hermione was about to try reasoning with him further when Draco’s large tongue came out to slide across her outstretched palm in one long, wet, languid lick.

She gasped, her knees wobbling before she caught herself and had to shut her eyes to keep the room from spinning.

A familiar buzzing hummed to life in her ears.

It ran through her bones.

It _ached_ in her thighs.

Heat raced through her.

Her skin was burning.

Hermione swallowed and when she reopened her eyes, Draco was looking at her… _intrigued._

She was familiar with this look.

Drawing in a deep breath, she caught his own scent on the air—earthy and heady and hers.

 **“Mate,”** she growled at him.

Draco’s nostrils flared and his tongue came out to wet his lips. He was moving again. He was closing the distance between them.

She saw recognition in his eyes again and he was staring at her as hungrily as he had before the chase that led them to Bellerose’s manor in the first place.

The excitement she’d felt with him on her heels, of running through the halls, of the anticipation of what would come once he caught her—what they never got to finish—flooded through her limbs.

Finally, when Draco had closed in enough to where she could feel his breath tickling the skin of her face, she held his gaze, wholly unafraid, and spoke in a voice that sounded too thick and sultry to be hers.

_"Malfoy Manor."_

Hermione turned and jumped through the swollen green fire, hearing only the rush of the flames and feeling only the tight grip of a massive clawed paw clamped around her ankle as the floo carried them home.  
  



	25. The Yearning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beast. Secks.

_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Friday, February 16, 2001 – 10:00PM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.—** _

Hermione crash landed in the sitting room of Malfoy Manor with Draco’s huge mitt still wrapped tightly around her ankle, his massive form following closely after through the surge of green flames. As soon as her palms hit the floor, she wriggled free from his grip and scrabbled to her feet.

Hermione felt energized. 

She dared a quick glance over her shoulder to see Draco gathering himself from his ungraceful tumble. Their stares locked long enough for him to bare his teeth and growl out a warning that raised goosebumps on her arms and then she was off, bare feet pattering against the stone.

The same heat that’d warmed her limbs before they jumped through the floo, propelled her forward, taking command of her feet and moving her at a run to her destination. In her head, Hermione could see the layout of the entire Manor as though she’d lived there her entire life. With that, she knew precisely where she wanted to go.

The moment she bolted, Draco’s instincts kicked in. He darted after her, one big hulking mass of muscles, fur, and dangerous teeth and claws scraping after his mate who was clearing an amazing distance for being only on two legs.

Draco loped down a familiar pathway deep into the Manor, one that he recognized as leading to his room. The noise of his pursuit lessened as he slowed from his all out chase into a more methodical hunt. 

Hermione’s scent definitely led here, it grew stronger the closer he padded to his darkened room. When he reached the hall just outside his door, he spotted the cloak he’d shrouded her in deposited in a lumpy pile. Stalking ever closer to it, he snuffled at the ancient wool, so saturated with her scent now. It was a scent that was too fresh and too strong for her to have left it far behind her. He sniffed at the air and knew she was here, this was where her trail stopped…or rather, just inside the partially open double doors that led to his bed.

Draco bared his teeth and crept inside, the well-oiled hinges of his doors making no sound as his large form snaked through them. The darkness inside was cut by a line of pale light shining in through the tall multi-paned windows that faced him. By itself, it illuminated very little, but with his enhanced eyesight, he could make out the grey shapes of furniture and what few personal effects he kept around.

His eyes darted to his bed, very nearly expecting to find his mate spread for him and waiting with the delectable scent she’d left in her wake. Draco was only mildly disappointed to find it empty, though the heady smell of her hung thick in the air. She was here. She was _hiding._

Draco growled and his ears twitched and swiveled, seeking sounds of startled movement, of her excited breathing—her racing heart. He padded a handful more steps inside, a floorboard behind his door creaked, his head snapped in her direction, and she struck out like a flash in the dark.

Bounding from her hiding place, Hermione met Draco’s toothy snarl with one of her own and shoved him bodily against the nearest wall with a strength that shocked him. It caught him off guard for but a second before he had their positions reversed and Hermione grunted with the force of being slammed against the wall in his place. Draco snapped his jaws at her in warning but her narrow-eyed stare glittered in the darkness and he received a low, throaty moan from her in response—the sound went straight to his cock.

Hermione’s head came forward and she bumped the side of his muzzle with her cheek. She nosed the side of his face that she’d clawed up earlier, nuzzling the fur and drawing in the scent of him with a great deep pull of air.

 ** _“Mine,”_ **she said in a gravelly tone as close to a growl as her human vocal chords could manage and then began ripping off the clothes still clinging to his frame.

Draco groaned when she freed him from the tattered trappings of cotton to wrap an eager hand around his length and responded in kind. He made quick work of her borrowed shift and chosen underthings, shredding them all with his claws to stroke his fingers between her thighs. When he swept his knuckles across her center and came away soaked, the fur of his knuckles matted down with her slick, he wasted no more time. Draco hefted her into his arms and drove into her with one firm thrust that knocked her head back against the wall and had his name tearing free from her throat on a ragged moan.

Hermione clawed at his arms and shoulders, his back and head—anywhere she could reach, with a raw, primal need to have him as close to her as he could be. She writhed in his arms and bounced on his shaft, every frantic, heated stroke butting against the swelling bulge at the base of his cock.

With every jerk of his hips, Draco pulled a new, _wonderful_ noise from his witch— _his mate._ He felt her little hands twist in the shaggy long-furs at the back of his head and she tugged him forward, kissing him feverishly with no regard to the razor sharp edges of his fangs. Amid his haze of pleasure, he felt his teeth slice through the plump flesh of her lips and tasted the tang of her blood on his tongue. The faint thought to be more careful with his little mate floated through his head but was just as quickly squashed when the sting of her cut flesh seemed only to drive her further into a frenzy.

Hermione’s legs latched more tightly around his waist and she pulled free of their kisses with her blood trickling down her chin. With one arm looped about his neck, she used the other to push roughly against the wall, forcing him off balance and stumbling backwards with her clinging to him until he landed onto his bed. The frame creaked and snapped, buckling beneath the sudden weight of his massive form and hers. 

Draco had all of a second to witness her fierce form above him before she lashed out, teeth-bared and a ferocious snarl filling the air. With a harsh shove, he found himself pressed further into the mattress. The whizzing outline of Hermione’s wild mane of curls fill his vision and he felt her jaw clamp down around the meat of his shoulder as well as the impossibility of her blunt teeth bypassing fur and hide to cut into his flesh.

Draco roared at the sting of her bite. His hips jerked— _hard_ —and he dug his claws into the supple curves of her hips and arse to slam her fully onto his cock, knot and all.

Hermione’s mouth tore free from his shoulder as another moan left her on a heaving exhale. Her thighs trembled, shaking at the strain of straddling Draco’s much larger frame. Her innermost muscles spasmed around the latest intrusion and she rested only to feel his knot swell inside her, locking them together. She picked her head up high enough to peer up at his face and found him peering back, a pale beast in the moonlight. Hermione bared her teeth at him again, steadying her aching muscles and feeling so blissfully full until, at last, she unfurled herself from her resting place atop his chest and rose up to ride him.

The sound that vibrated free of Draco’s chest was an otherworldly thing.

Draco couldn’t take his eyes off of his beautiful mate, the combined tracks of their blood painting her lips and lines down her chin.

Her back bowed and her hips ground in a torturous pace and rhythm that pulled his breath from him in desperate pants of desire. 

Her heat engulfed him, her fragrance clouded his head, yet he still wanted more.

It was somewhere there, witnessing the perfection that was her heavenly body riding astride him, tugging his orgasm ever closer while nothing but pure bliss painted her face, that his human and beastly mind again came to an agreement: this was where she belonged.

Every fiber of his being as beast or man craved her.

He wanted her pleasure, her happiness.

He wanted her ferocity and strength.

He wanted all of her: the insufferable teacher’s pet, the bossy know-it-all, the brightest witch of her age, the fiercest lioness ever to walk out of Gryffindor— _Hermione._

He wanted her.

 ** _“Hermione…”_** he growled out her name. It was the first thing he’d said since his transformation that evening and his speech sounded more inhuman than it ever had before.

Hermione cracked open her eyes at the rumbling of her name but didn’t slow the movement of her hips.

 _“Mate—need you,”_ she murmured, her own voice as animalistic as his.

Draco moved one set of claws up from her arse to her back, gripping hard and breaking the skin at her insistence. Her eyes glazed, cheeks flushed, and her lips were glistening and parted by her quickening mewls. 

A sheen of sweat dotted her forehead and the rocking of her movements began to stutter.

One of her hands slipped down between them where they were joined, smoothing her own slick over her swollen clit with heightening whimpers.

Draco growled and tugged away the hand toying with herself to replace it with his own and slipped her wet fingers into his mouth to suck them clean.

Hermione let out a disgruntled noise that was choked short when Draco’s rough-padded fingertips and tongue caught her unawares. Her breath hitched suddenly and her hips stuttered into an erratic grind against his remarkably gentle touch. She breathed his name out on a desperate exhale, bracing her free hand on one of his thighs and struggling to keep her eyes open to hold his gaze.

Draco felt the muscles on the insides of her thighs tensing and twitching, her cunt tightening more and more around his knot as her breathing tore out of her in sharp gasps and unintelligible sounds.

At once, Hermione’s body went taught, the ragged grinding of her hips stopped and she arched up off him, pulling him along for the ride. 

Deeply swollen and caught within the vice-like grip of her inner walls, Draco’s own hips drove upwards, rooting impossibly deeper. Her muscles fluttered around him, tugging and squeezing and clenching. 

He wasn’t ready, he wanted more, just a moment more on the edge, buried deep inside the tight little quim of his mate that ached just for him.

**_“Draco!”_ **

Hermione’s throaty cry ripped any remaining semblance of resistance from his body and he thrust hard into her, spilling his seed with rough, jerky spasms into her womb.

Draco tugged her down to him, devouring her mouth in a messy kiss before Hermione’s post-orgasmic self could even get a bearing on what was happening. He tangled one claw in her curls while the other helped ease her thighs open wider to move her along his shaft in slow, shallow movements that rubbed his knot against her most sensitive spots and had sluggish waves of pleasure and heat rolling into her limbs.

Hermione released his lips with a contented hum and half-lidded gaze. She nuzzled her nose into the fur of his chest, offering him a lazy, lopsided smile that was warmed further by the glittering golden hue in her eyes.

**_“Fucking Merlin’s hairy bollocks!!”_ **

Those same golden eyes grew wide as saucers at the voice coming from the doorway and they swiftly drained of their golden shade.

Angry silver eyes gleamed instead as Draco’s head snapped towards the now-open doors of his room with a possessive and threatening growl on his lips. He was moving with murderous intent but was stopped short and his growl turned into a powerful, shuddering groan as he found himself very literally _stuck_ inside Hermione’s slick, wet heat.

Hermione gasped and couldn’t help a full body shiver as Draco’s knot rubbed along her still too-sensitive nerves in his reflexive tug to get free. She stifled her moan and felt around for the nearest throwable object, settling on one of Draco’s huge fluffy pillows adorning his bed.

“Harry, close the bloody door!” she snarled and chucked it at him.

The pillow fell woefully short of the doorway but Harry Potter was too busy sputtering and clawing at his eyes to notice.

“Fucking ** _HELL!”_**

Hermione threw another of the pillows, this one finding its mark and knocking her friend several steps back into the hallway where she screamed at him again.

**_“CLOSE THE FUCKING DOOR, YOU IDIOT!”_ **

  
**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-. "-.-" "-.-" "-.-" "-.-" "-.-" "-.-"**

  
Twenty and some odd minutes later the trio stood awkwardly among each other in Malfoy Manor’s main sitting room, everyone in attendance once again somewhat appropriately dressed and decidedly _unstuck._

Hermione had just finished explaining to Harry a very abridged version of her involvement in Draco’s family curse as well as all the progress they’d made in lifting it. Judging by the way Harry sat on the edge of one of room’s posh armchairs, still scrubbing at his eyes and mumbling on and on about what he’d walked in on, she didn’t have great confidence that he was even listening.

For his part, Draco stood by the fireplace, one arm draped over the mantle where he was minimally dressed in a pair of slacks that Hermione transfigured to fit him with his recovered wand. Post-romp, he found himself shockingly clear-headed and, aside from being interrupted, he felt good, coherent, and much more like his old pre-curse self than he had in weeks. He watched as Hermione paced in a small path between himself and his school nemesis dressed in a borrowed pair of sleep trousers—also transfigured to fit—and one of his old Quidditch sweaters that she’d left alone but was far too large on her tiny frame. He quite liked the look of it.

“Oh, _stop_ your complaining!” Hermione snapped at Harry, her cheeks still harboring a blush as a lingering sign of embarrassment at being caught in so compromising a position.

Harry groaned, massaging his temples as though that alone would scrub his brain of all undesirable imagery.

“Sorry, ‘Mione but it’s just…you…and Malfoy…”

A single brown eyebrow ticked up in irritation and Hermione folded her arms across her chest, one foot tapping as if it were the only thing keeping her from throttling a certain green-eyed wizard.

“What? Me and Malfoy _what?_ Had sex? Yes, as a matter of fact, we did! And—last I checked—I was an adult who can engage in such activities at. My. Leisure!” She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Did _I_ ever throw a fit any of the times I walked in on you and Ginny? Especially that one time in the _KITCHEN_ of all places?!”

Draco hoped his smirk as a beast came across just as clearly as it would’ve when he was a man.

“You and the she-Weasel—oh, sorry, the _Potterette_ —getting nasty on the counters, Potter? Never would’ve thought you had it in you.”

 **“Shut _up,_ Malfoy!**” Two-thirds of The Golden Trio shouted at Draco at once.

Draco huffed and Harry held up his hands in surrender towards Hermione, doing his best to mollify the angry witch.

“It’s just—it’s a bit of a _shock,_ don’t you think?!”

Harry glanced to the beast still looming by the fireplace…the beast that was also, apparently, Draco Malfoy.

…the beast that was making no effort to hide the fact that he was glaring, _quite_ viciously, back at him.

He swallowed and thought about how to phrase the next words out of his mouth.

“Also, Hermione, he’s…” One of Harry’s hands gestured vaguely in the direction of Draco and the massive creature that he was. “…he’s—well, he’s—”

“Standing _right_ here, Potter,” Draco snarled. His ears flicked back along his head and he bared his teeth, pushing away from the mantel to take a few threatening steps forward. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to stare? Oh, that’s right, she **couldn’t.”**

“Draco!” Hermione hissed.

Harry was on his feet in a second. The tentative truce that’d been understood at the beginning of this ‘talk’ dissolved and he ripped his wand from its holster, sending as vicious of a glare back at the beast staring him down.

“Watch your mouth, Malfoy,” Harry grit out. “Or I’ll send you on a one-way trip to St. Mungo’s so you can visit _your_ mother in the mental ward!”

 **“Harry!”** Hermione whirled from one posturing male to the other.

Draco snarled and his fur stood on end.

Both wizard and beast bared their teeth at one another, beginning to close the distance with little else than malice gleaming in their eyes.

Hermione shoved her way between them and planted a hand firmly on both of their chests.

“Both of you, ** _BACK OFF!”_**

Neither listened at first and so she shoved them— ** _HARD._**

Harry grunted and tumbled onto the love seat while Draco barely budged, continuing to growl and glare at the other man.

Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed her arms up.

“Honestly, it’s as though we never left Hogwarts!”

This earned her an irritated snarl from her lover but he finally broke contact with Harry to stalk back to his spot by the fire. Once Hermione was sure neither of the stupid wizards in her life were going to kill—or devour—one another, she turned her attention back to Harry.

“What were you doing prowling the halls here, anyway?”

Harry gave her a sour look.

“I was looking for you. I flooed to your flat like you told me to but when you didn’t show up, I came here. I heard you screaming from across the house and thought you might’ve been in trouble or something.” The color drained from his face and he looked like he was just shy of being ill. “I never expected… _that.”_

“That’s what happens when you properly please a woman, Potter,” Draco snarked. “I’m not surprised you’re unfamiliar with the sound.”

Harry recovered and shot Draco a baleful glare.

“Considering you looked like you were going to **_eat her_** last I saw, Malfoy, I had to be sure,” he snarked back.

That shut Draco up.

Draco vaguely recalled the haze that overtook him when the time-locked spell of the LeClair Manor had faded and his curse took hold with a vengeance. He couldn’t remember much between arriving at The Ministry and tracking Hermione to his bedroom and it hadn’t concerned him until Harry had pointed it out.

He could have _killed_ her.

Oblivious to Draco’s dismay, Hermione’s blush returned with fervor at his and Harry’s exchange, realizing that she’d effectively ditched her friend for a shag.

“How did you know I’d be here?” she asked.

Harry rocked back on the sofa, offering her an incredulous look at the question.

“I _AM_ an Auror, ‘Mione. It’s kind of my job to put the pieces together.” 

He then opened one side of his robe to retrieve an envelope from an inside pocket and handed it to her. When Hermione took it and flipped it around, her stare landed on the broken green seal that had the Malfoy family emblem pressed into the wax—remnants of all the letters she and Draco had exchanged over the past several days.

“These were lying around your living room along with a leather satchel that had his crest embossed on the cover.” Harry’s stare darted to the huge, furred form standing only a few paces behind Hermione and he added, “Not to mention I saw Malfoy turn into…that.”

A snarl bubbled up in his chest but Draco forced himself to quiet down when Hermione pinned him with a stare.

Hermione returned her attention to the envelope and flipped it around in her hands a few more times before letting out a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry, Harry. Things got a little…carried away?”

Harry looked green in the face when he thought again about what he’d seen and he shook his head, flailing his hands a bit to insist she didn’t continue.

“Don’t mention it. Really. _Please_ don’t mention it.”

Hermione cleared her throat but nodded.

“Right…well. I have to say…you’re taking everything rather well.”

Draco scoffed.

Harry bit at the inside of his cheek and looked between his best friend and his old rival then let out his own deep sigh.

“I suppose I’m not really surprised? I mean—not about whatever’s happening here—” 

He gestured at Draco—at _all_ of him. 

“—but about whatever’s happening _here.”_

Harry then motioned to both of them.

“I knew something was happening that involved the two of you but I had no idea what. Ron and I were both tipped off by what happened at the party.”

At the sound of Ron’s name, Hermione’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach and the pink color to her cheeks drained right out.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Harry shot her a very chastising look that he’d learned from her.

“Apparently, the two of you left a _very_ confused Cormac McLaggen sputtering about seeing the two of you together and the _Confundus_ charm we detected on him was powerful enough that we could only think of one person alive and in the immediate vicinity that would’ve been able to pull it off.”

Hermione looked faint and even Draco noticed, coming to her aid to keep her wobbling form steady and on her feet. She gripped at Draco’s arms, easily leaning into his support while Harry witnessed the exchange with an obvious look of unease.

Once she was sure she wasn’t going to faint, Hermione turned a panicked expression to her friend.

“He SAW, Harry! He would have exposed Draco to everyone! You know how stupidly our world already treats magical creatures they don’t understand! If the press or anyone found out about him—if they found out it was _Draco_ —I don’t even KNOW what would happen! You know he’s had enough of a hard time reintegrating into society as it is! It was for his protection!"

Harry held up his hands again in as soothing a gesture as he could muster, not missing Draco’s darkening expression around the way she spoke about him.

“Relax,” Harry said. “Nobody is going to find out. Only Ron and I were given clearance to evaluate McLaggen and Kingsley let us know in few enough words that we weren’t to release this information—not just to the press, but to records as well. He didn’t tell us exactly _what_ was up, just the bare minimum of what we needed to know. We knew you and Malfoy were involved with something, that it was cleared through Kingsley, and not to file any reports on what we found just yet. For all intents and purposes, you two are off the hook with The Ministry.”

Harry gave them a pointed look.

“For now, anyway. My professional recommendation is that you both steer clear of as much exposure as possible, so I hope you haven’t got any other grand plans and public appearances any time soon.”

Draco huffed at that and narrowed his eyes.

Harry frowned.

“What?”

“There is…something.”

Hermione added her own grimace to the pot.

“It’s not another evening engagement, is it?” she asked and, at the look on his face, that grimace only deepened. “Draco, can’t you cancel it?”

He snapped at her and his growl was immediate and loud.

 **“No,”** he snarled. “I’m not canceling. It’s **important.”**

Hermione was taken aback by his tone but recovered quickly enough, covering her reaction with a disgruntled sniff and pulling herself from his arms.

“Well don’t expect me to help you with _this_ one, then.”

Harry cleared his throat, cutting off whatever reply was forming in Draco’s maw.

“Do what you want, Malfoy, but I can’t promise you the outcome on The Ministry’s end will be as accommodating next time if something like this happens again.

Especially if you don’t have Hermione at your back on it.”

Draco glanced to his witch who had her arms stubbornly folded in front of her then back to Harry. The fur on his back and shoulders prickled.

“Then I suppose I’d better start planning now— _on. My. Own,”_ Draco said with a snap of his jaws and stalked from the room.

Hermione set her jaw, watching him go and resisting the urge to follow him, resisting the desire to be close and keep him very near. Instead, she huffed and plopped down on the cushions next to Harry.

The silence that stretched between the two was not at all comfortable and it lasted for several long moments. Hermione alternated between glancing at Harry from beneath her eyelashes and looking at the sitting room’s entryway as though Draco would reappear any moment. Harry, for the most part, just stared at his clasped hands, watching one thumb swirl patterns around the other.

“So…” Hermione broke the silence at last. “…how is he?”

She didn’t have to say the name for Harry to know who she meant.

He shifted, cleared his throat, nodded.

“He’s…good?”

Hermione blinked.

“Was that an answer or a question?”

“A bit of both?” Harry said with the same inflection, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

At that, Harry removed his glasses to rub the bridge of the nose before replacing them.

“He says he’s fine, of course. He’s gotten much better since the…you know. And he’s dating Lavender again.” Harry’s nose scrunched. “But…he’s still hurting.”

Hermione stiffened, immediately going on the defensive.

 _“He’s_ still hurting?”

Before her indignation could gain traction, Harry reached for one of her hands and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Hey, you don’t have to explain or justify _anything_ to me. I know I’ve not been much of a friend this past year, but it’s not because I’m taking sides—I’m _NOT,_ you know?”

He turned more fully in her direction, slipping both of her hands into both of his own and rubbing his thumbs across the backs of her knuckles. When she didn’t immediately look at him, he prodded her with one of his elbows until she did.

“You weren’t happy. I saw it. Ginny saw it. Hell, even bloody Neville noticed!”

She snorted a laugh and it did wonders for lifting a weight from her that she never knew had been present before that moment.

“Honestly, I think Ron’s the only one that didn’t ever realize what was happening until it was too late,” Harry concluded in a somber tone. “Do I wish it’d worked? Sure. I’ll admit it. You two are my very best friends. I wouldn’t **BE** here without either of you. But, Hermione—” 

He tugged at her hands and smiled a warm, earnest, carefree smile at her that he never did often enough these days. It always found a way to lift her spirits just from knowing it still existed somewhere, buried beneath the state the war and everything else had left them in.

“—you don’t owe me—or **_ANYONE_ **else—explanations for doing what you needed to do to be happy.”

Hermione didn’t know when she’d _started_ crying but when Harry leaned in for a hug, she knew she was crying _then._

She curled into his embrace and buried her face against his shoulder, finding the faint, familiar smell of his soap and toothpaste on the air to be exactly the same as she remembered.

Harry squeezed her tight, rocking her in his arms and running his hands over her sweater-clad back until she’d calmed enough for him to pull away and place a warm kiss onto the top of her head.

Hermione chuckled through her tears, scrubbing the remnants of them from her eyes with the heels of her hands.

“Thanks…for making me feel better,” she said and bumped him with her shoulder between sniffles. “I knew there was a reason I kept you alive all those years.”

Harry’s laugh was sudden and loud and just what was needed to fill the otherwise dreary silence of the sitting room.

He gave her another squeeze and left his arm wrapped snugly around her shoulders. The seriousness of his next thoughts tamped down on what had been a steadily lightening mood and he sighed.

“I guess it just…it just—”

“Sucks?” Hermione mumbled.

“Yeah…”

They sat there again in the quiet room, although it was substantially more comfortable this time around.

It was Harry who broke the silence this time.

“So…you and Malfoy?”

“Harry.” Hermione’s stern tone was meant to warn him but it came out more tired than anything.

“Look, like I said, you don’t owe me any explanations…but Malfoy?”

With a groan, Hermione shrugged his arm off her shoulders and twisted so she could look him in the eyes more easily.

“We’re not together.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“As much as I hate to recall, you two looked pretty…together. **Stuck,** even.”

Her cheeks burned.

This was a conversation she absolutely did _not_ feel like having—not right now. Maybe not ever!

Hermione rubbed at her face.

“We’re _not._ I mean—I…I don’t even know if he really likes me beyond all _this._ It’s just—things are complicated…”

Her hand drifted down to her belly of its own accord and her gaze settled somewhere off into the distance as the most unwelcome gears spun and turned in her head, processing a myriad of pleasant and unpleasant thoughts alike.

Harry tugged her back in for another hug.

“You’ll figure it out, you always do. And if you can’t, I’ll be here for you. But…I’ll let you in on a secret…”

Hermione watched him lean in with tired eyes, the look on his face comically conspiratorial behind his dark-rimmed glasses.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“I’m absolute _rubbish_ at figuring things out without you.”

It tricked a laugh from her and there was an almost audible release of tension from her body.

Months of stress and worry and misery that’d found subtle ways to work into every inch of her body were being forcefully expelled. They were being fast replaced with a budding sense that things just might be starting to right themselves now that the gap between her and her first friend in this crazy magical world was being bridged again.

Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around Harry’s midsection and buried her face against his chest.

“I missed you, Harry.”

He squeezed her back, harder than he had in some time.

“I missed you, too.”

Lurking—for that’s what he was doing—by the doorway to the sitting room after his agitated pace around the Manor, Draco caught the tail end of their conversation.

The sweet way Harry Potter’s arms clasped around _his_ witch and, worse yet, the way she hugged him back had his head clouded with jealousy and his paws moving in a second.

Draco’s sudden growl behind the pair on the couch startled them apart and he glowered as Hermione sprang from her seat, clutching at her chest and panting from the surprise.

“Did I interrupt something?” Draco snapped.

The implication not lost on her and, shock aside, Hermione’s surprise turned into a stubborn glare. There were few things that set her off quicker than jealous posturing—she’d had plenty of it with Ron—and so the words bubbled up onto her tongue before she could think better of it.

 _“Yes,”_ Hermione hissed. “Harry and I were reminiscing about our old times together.”

Draco’s ears flicked at her answer, his eyes latched only onto the woman glaring back.

“By all means, continue.” He made a mocking gesture with the sweep of one arm. “But if that’s what you’re doing, you can get the _fuck_ out and do it somewhere else!”

Harry rose, ready to come to Hermione’s aid.

He soon realized that it really had been a while since they’d talked because she clearly needed zero of his help in dressing down Draco Malfoy.

“Oh, is that _so?”_ Hermione’s voice pitched and her eyes narrowed into shining brown slits. 

A menacing aura ignited around Hermione’s petite figure.

“What’s the matter, Malfoy?” His surname slid off her tongue like a knife. “What happened to you asking me to stay? Is that not what you want anymore?”

 _‘A trap.’_ The warning blared in the back of Draco’s mind but he devoutly ignored it.

So caught up in the image of his mate in the arms of Harry- _fucking_ -Potter, it was all he could think about—all he could see. It was burned into his retinas and boiled in his blood in the worst of ways.

If he’d been paying attention—if he’d been able to—he would have seen even Harry’s eyes go wide at Hermione’s words and the too-obvious setup that was being laid before him.

Harry flashed his beastly rival a discreet look, warning him away from doing whatever it was he was about to do. It was a camaraderie of sorts, an understanding that extended beyond the simple labels of good and bad, hero and villain, dark and light, and was purely bloke to bloke with the interest of not wanting to see anyone’s bollocks get hexed off that night.

If Draco could have focused beyond his jealousy, he would have seen that, and he would have known…and he would _not_ have done what he did.

Straightening and drawing as tall as he could to fill the space with his impressive mass, Draco towered over her.

“I asked _you_ to stay, not Pothead.” He didn’t even spare a glance for the wizard in question, merely snarling and baring massive fangs at his little mate. “If you want to be all ‘buddy-buddy,’ you can remove yourselves from _my_ Manor!”

Harry winced and shook his head.

Hermione’s eye twitched and her face twisted into an expression no less ferocious than his. Rising to her own full height—which, for the record, put the top of her head somewhere woefully short of even his collarbone in this particular face off—she leaned into his personal space and snarled back.

“I _see!_ Well, Harry and I certainly _do_ have quite a bit of catching up to do I think! Isn’t that right Harry?”

“Ah…I should actually be getting home,” Harry said, wanting all of _no_ part of this. “Ginny may be worried and—”

 _“See,_ Malfoy?” Hermione hissed, ignoring Harry entirely. “We have _plenty_ of things still to talk about elsewhere. _ALONE.”_

Draco’s lips were pulled as far back off his fangs as they could get and his muscles twitched, all of them wound more tightly than a spring. The growl that trickled out through his clenched fangs vibrated the nearby knick-knacks on the end tables near the couch with its intensity.

“Then you’d best get to it and **_LEAVE!”_**

Harry’s mouth flapped and he looked between the couple.

“Malfoy, don’t—!” 

**_“FINE!”_** Hermione roared and whipped her head back around to set her sights on Harry. Her curls practically prickled with electricity, surrounding her head like a mane or perhaps more like a porcupine extending its quills. “Harry, we’re leaving!”

Hermione snatched up Harry’s flailing hand with one of hers and fisted her other into the dish of floo powder by the hearth.

Draco couldn’t pull his eyes away from where their hands clasped and their fingers interlocked. Just as Hermione was about to throw the glittery powder into the flames, his vision went red.

“And don’t worry about coming back!” Draco roared. “I’ll figure this all out on my own! I don’t need your bloody help or any fucking charity from **your** kind!”

Hermione froze, fist raised with floo powder leaking from between her clenched fist, looking as though she’d just been slapped.

_Your kind._

The moment the words left him, Draco realized what he’d said and, in his jealous rage, exactly what he’d meant when he used that phrase.

By the look in her wide, hurt eyes, she did, too.

 ** _Her_ **kind.

Muggle-borns.

_Mudbloods._

Hermione’s bottom lip, still plump and crusted with the healing cuts from his teeth, trembled.

His mate.

_'No…no, no, no…'_

She wasn’t supposed to look at him like that.

He was never supposed to hurt his mate—he was meant to _protect_ her.

Draco opened his mouth, intent on taking it back.

He didn’t mean that—he didn’t mean to say it!

The apology lodged itself in his throat when her brown, watery eyes went hard.

“Right. Then.” Hermione’s voice wavered despite her efforts otherwise. “I won’t.”

Her shaking fist threw the silver powder into the hearth with a shout of her address and she and a frowning Harry Potter disappeared in a swell of flames.

Draco stared after her, trying to process what he’d just done.

He’d kicked her out.

No, he’d not just kicked her out, he kicked her out and he hurt her.

His mate—his witch— _his Hermione._

When his brain caught up to the facts, a sorrowful noise tore free of his throat along with the apology that’d stuck there.

**“I’m sorry!”**

He snatched his own fistful of floo powder and chucked it into the fire, calling her address.

Nothing happened.

Draco’s chest clenched with a rapidly growing fear and he tried again only to be met with the same result.

“Merlin fucking **DAMMIT!”**

She’d closed access to the Manor—hell, she was probably in the process of barring him from ever stepping foot into her flat ever again.

He slammed both hands on the mantel, splintering the frame and letting out a wall-rattling, mournful howl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And dramuh. D:


	26. The Confession

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_**Friday, February 16, 2001 – 11:30PM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

Harry sat on Hermione's couch with a steaming mug of hot cocoa cupped in both hands. He was currently watching her pace tracks into her carpet in front of him, ranting angrily about Draco while he did his best to pay attention to the stream of miffed curses and yelling as he fiddled with one of the thick tomes he’d had the task of transferring safely to her flat.

"Can you believe the nerve of that prat?!"

"I—"

"I mean honestly, who does he think he is?" Hermione looked at him accusingly. "You men and your jealousy!"

Harry choked his sip of cocoa. 

"Wha—but I'm not—!"

"What? Are we all cave people?! You don't OWN me! You can't dictate who I see and what I do!"

"But I didn't—!"

**_"UGH!"_ **

Hermione threw her hands into the air for the umpteenth time and resumed her irate pacing. 

"It's so bloody barbaric!"

Harry watched her let loose all her frustrations, choosing wisely to quietly sip his beverage and allow her to wind it all out. Several minutes later, she finally stopped her circling to glare down at him with her hands placed solidly on her hips.

 ** _"Well?_ **Don't you have anything to say?"

Harry took another long sip of his cocoa, almost seeming to enjoy making her wait after her long rant about how his lot were so terrible and awful and _the worst._

"Yes, actually,” he said, placing his cup onto the coffee table. "Do you fancy him?"

Stunned, Hermione sputtered. 

"Wuh— **no!** No, of course not! It's just this bloody spell doing something to us both! We...tolerate each other at best.” 

She struggled somewhat on the word ‘tolerate’ pausing long enough to make a face before setting her shoulders as though she were bracing herself for a blow of some kind. 

“There is no _'fancying'_ of any kind going on."

 _"Really?"_ Harry drew out the word with the kind of skepticism he might use on someone telling him the sky was green.

He let his eyes scan over her a moment as he compiled the facts.

Before he’d interrupted their… _moment,_ the pair of them looked content and happy, even. As much as he’d hated to look—and as much as it pained him to remember her in that position—plucking apart the image in his head, one thing was markedly clear: Hermione hadn’t smiled like that in years.

If it’d just been relegated to Draco’s bedroom, he would’ve let it go and chalked it up to post-coital bliss, but it wasn’t. There had been a distinct sign of comfort and ease in the set of her shoulders then—so different from the guarded way she was holding herself now. Not to mention she was still apparently distraught over everything. If she wasn’t, Harry knew she wouldn’t still be harping on it. Hermione Granger only ever got so worked up over something she was passionate about…or _someone._

She couldn’t fool him. He’d seen a disturbing number of cases involving Amortentia and scandalous charms in his line of work. The artificial needs and desires created by magic were hollow and they never ran this deeply, not like this. The curse brought them together but Harry wasn’t blind—this was no longer magic at work, it was something else entirely.

It was because of all these facts that Harry made a decision he thought he might later regret: he meddled.

“Let me ask you a different question, then. Do you even care about Malfoy?”

Hermione’s head rocked back, taken off guard but also seemingly offended at the same time

“Ah…well…yes, I do.”

“Alright. So from what I saw tonight—excluding the part I never want to discuss EVER again after this conversation—I’d venture a guess he cares about you, too.”

Harry held up a closed hand and began visually counting off on his fingers, one finger for every point he stood to make.

“We’ve established that you both tolerate each other—” 

He unfurled his pinkie finger from his fist and wiggled it at her.

“—and you both care about one another—” 

His ring finger was added to the count.

“And, from my point of view, you both seem to enjoy being in each other’s company; you were constantly looking for him when you and I were alone; and _he_ is **extremely** protective of you.”

The rest of his fingers popped up from his fist in succession until his hand was fully open. He waved at her with his hand full of facts.

Hermione rolled her eyes and shoved his hand back down into his lap.

“What’s your _POINT,_ Harry? Most of that is just the curse!”

“Is it?” he argued. “Or is that just you brushing it off as such?”

Harry sighed and tugged Hermione down onto the cushions next to him.

“Look, Hermione, I’m not a fan of Malfoy—let’s get that out in the open _right_ off the bat. When I see him most times, I want to punch him in his pointy face. Despite all that, even with my limited exposure to him today…I saw how he was looking at you.”

Hermione scoffed.

“What? Like he wanted to shag me again?”

Harry’s expression soured.

“Yeah, there was that.” His face scrunched and he shook his head before continuing. “There was something else though…he… _likes_ you, Hermione. I don’t think he meant to go off on you like that.”

“Then he should learn to control his temper!” Hermione snapped and folded her arms across her chest, bristling. “And I **don’t** ‘like’ him!” 

Hermione parroted Harry’s emphasis on the word with the most irate air quotes she could muster.

“He’s a prat! A lewd, spoiled, pompous _GIT!”_ Hermione growled. _“WHY_ are we even talking about this?”

Harry narrowed his green eyes and set his jaw, amazed at how stubborn she could be sometimes.

“Pansy,” he said suddenly.

 _“What?”_ Hermione’s mouth twisted in a sneer at the mere utterance of one of her least favorite people.

Harry held out one hand in askance for her patience.

“Stay with me a moment, here. Imagine now, after what you’ve been through with that lewd, spoiled, pompous git that, tomorrow, you saw Pansy on his arm.”

Hermione’s eye twitched at the woman’s name again.

“I’m imagining it,” Hermione grit out. “And I’m not seeing your point. Malfoy can see whomever he wants. As I said, we’re not together.”

She sniffed.

A beat of silence anchored between them.

She sniffed again.

“But it’s a moot point because she’s not single anymore, anyway.” She knew. Pansy did _not_ come up on the list of eligible bachelorettes…thank Merlin.

“No, no, I know that. Just…picture it a second, marital ties out of the picture. Malfoy and Parkinson, curled up on a sofa in front of nice, cozy fire like this one. His arm around her shoulders, snuggling.”

Harry watched Hermione’s carefully schooled features twitch again and start to twist into something much closer to the grotesque mask of jealousy as he went on.

“They’re getting comfortable,” Harry continued with a shrug. “Snogging maybe? Maybe something else. Maybe something more like what you and him were doing when I found you.”

Hermione’s face curled into the perfect picture of envy bordering on rage as her mind wrapped around the image of Draco being ridden by a woman she absolutely _loathed._

Red clouded her vision and she barely registered the menacing snarl that tore free from her throat as she shot to her feet and turned towards the fireplace with murder in her heart.

Harry grabbed her before she could floo to the Manor and rip her lover to pieces for an imagined slight, though his hands on her earned him a savage warning growl that made him release her in an instant.

It took a second for her enraged haze to clear, but when it did, Hermione’s neck grew hot from embarrassment and she smacked at Harry with a hiss.

“What was the point of that?!”

Harry held up both hands.

“I can almost guarantee you that—” He gestured towards her. “—is how Malfoy felt tonight when he saw you and me together.”

Hermione’s anger deflated like a popped balloon as Draco’s jealous fit was put into perspective. It dissipated into something closer to shame when she realized how quick she was to her own fit at the mere thought of him with another woman. She turned to stare at the fireplace, eyes looking into the low-burning flames for a long moment as the urge to see him—simply _her_ desire and not some magical compulsion—nagged at the back of her mind.

She turned back to Harry with an unmitigated groan and plopped back onto the cushions with her head in her hands.

“Buggering hell…I do. I fancy Draco Malfoy—a _lot.”_

Harry barked a short laugh but reached out to Hermione and coaxed her into a hug. When she buried her still groaning face against his chest, he squeezed her and rubbed comforting circles over her back.

“I tell you what…even with how sideways things went between you and Ron, _that_ is certainly not a thing I’d ever seen coming.”

“I’m not ready for this…” Hermione moaned in dismay.

She peeled herself from Harry’s embrace to flop like a rag doll onto her side of the couch. Harry flopped back with her, folding his hands over his stomach and glancing at her before settling on staring at her ceiling.

“You mean with him? Or at all?”

Hermione sighed and mirrored his position.

“Either? Both? I don’t know…I was just starting to get used to begin alone again.” Her voice was quiet and filled with an uncharacteristic emptiness when she glanced over at him. “It was just… _simpler,_ you know?

Harry offered her a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah. I do.” He reached over to squeeze one of her hands. “It’s simpler. Not necessarily _better.”_

Hermione returned his smile with a small one of her own and sighed, readjusting herself on the couch to curl up at Harry’s side. She closed her eyes when she felt him shift to sling an arm around her again. She heaved a massive sigh.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Harry shrugged.

“That’s up to you. But I dare say he’s almost as stubborn as you, so you’ll end up seeing him again sooner or later.”

“I don’t know if I should be offended by that or not,” she said.

Hermione fiddled with one of the buttons on Harry’s shirt and gnawed at the side of her bottom lip.

“Harry…”

“Mm…?”

“You’re being awfully understanding about this. Between Draco’s curse and you seeing us—”

“‘Mione, please—”

“—sorry. I just meant you’re being really good about this…especially considering it involves Draco Malfoy of all people. What gives?”

Harry interrupted his ceiling staring long enough to give Hermione a serious look.

“I may not get it…and I don’t particularly like him…but it’s not my place to judge what you do, Hermione. I trust you. I’ve always trusted you. I’m not about to sit here and question your choices…or your sanity—as much as I’d like to—”

That earned him a smack on the chest to which he _oofed_ but kept on.

“I’m not going to tell you what you can do, who you can do it with, or how. If this is what you want—if _Malfoy_ is it…just…be careful, okay? All I want for you is you to be happy and safe. ”

Hermione felt the warm prickle of tears gathering at the corners of her eyes and she scrubbed at them with the heels of her hands. When they didn’t abate, she buried her face more thoroughly against his chest.

“Thanks Harry…I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

Harry nodded, continuing to rub soothing patterns over her back until the trembling in her shoulders lessened. He pondered a few thoughts and eventually brightened.

“On the bright side,” he chirped, “if he _does_ hurt you in any way, that means I DO get to punch him in his pointy face, right? That gives me a free pass or something.”

Hermione snorted and smacked him again without malice.

Harry gave her another reassuring squeeze and pulled away enough to place a kiss to her forehead.

“Hey, I hate to heart-to-heart and leave, but I need to get home before Ginny starts sounding the alarms looking for me. Will you be alright here by yourself?”

“Yeah…” Hermione took another swipe at her eyes to clear the rest of her tears and pushed off the couch and onto her feet. “Will you tell her I said ‘hello?’”

“Absolutely!”

Harry followed Hermione to the fireplace as she prepared the floo.

“You should tell her yourself soon, too! How about you come over this Sunday. I can even see if it’ll be safe for the ferret to come if you want.”

She managed a smile.

“I’d like that! Although I don’t think planning for Draco will be necessary—he has standing meetings on Sundays.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at that but she shook her head.

“I’d rather like to keep visits as low key as possible for right now. At least until I kind of…figure some stuff out.”

“Right. Understood.” Harry snatched up a handful of floo powder from the clay cup on her mantel. “Just let me know if anything changes. See you Sunday?”

“See you Sunday!”

Hermione was beaming by the time Harry left, feeling a thousand times lighter after coming at least a little bit to terms with several things that’d been rattling around in her head.

_'Things might just be starting to get better again!'_

  
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**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-. .-"-.**   
  


_Things were not better._

_Things were not better at all._

These were the thoughts whirling through Hermione’s head as she was propped up against the tub in her bathroom, lightheaded and dizzy, eyes shut tight against the darkness behind her eyelids that continued to swirl and lurch despite her efforts to remain still. 

Her shoulders jerked intermittently and waves of untethered anxiety and fatigue washed over her, turning into sharp spikes of pain and spasms.

How could she have forgotten this lovely aspect of the curse?

The blood oath that Bellerose had spoken of, of not being able to be away from each other for long or else…this.

She'd forgotten until now. 

Or at least she’d never had a label for it until recently.

Granted, Hermione couldn’t clearly remember the details of all her nights together with Draco but she was certain they’d taken no vows. Frankly, she couldn’t recall either of them having much beyond the mental capacity of grunting and groaning and fucking whenever they were together in their haze. 

The exchange of blood, though… _that_ she could recall.

Even now, in her miserable state, the call to mark him with bite or claw thrummed through her. 

Neither of them could have spoken such a complex vow needed for a blood bond…but they’d certainly initiated it.

Hermione shivered and cracked open her eyes, relieved when the room spun only briefly before settling into its proper place.

Bellerose had been able to stave off the effects of her oath somehow…maybe a potion?

Hermione scrabbled to her feet, trusting the bathroom counter to support most of her weight as she dragged herself to the medicine cabinet. She winced at the jabs of pain in her head and shoulders, urging herself on to rip open the door and rifle through all the small vials of various potions she’d kept on hand. Her stockpile was woefully short of pain potions save for a swallow left in one flask she hadn’t had time to replenish.

_'A sleeping draught… If I can't get rid of it maybe I can sleep through it...'_

Sluggishly sifting through the glass containers, Hermione found one she could use. She uncapped it and took a big swig, dribbling much of it on herself in her uncoordinated mess. Only some of the liquid made its way down the back of her throat before her eyes shot open, wide and panicked as she spat it all back out into the sink.

“Oh god! Fuck! I’m sorry!” Hermione hissed and she dropped the glass, both hands covering her belly as she apologized to it and her muddled mind caught up to her condition. _“Fuck!”_

She spat again and frantically doused her tongue with water from the sink as though it would cleanse away her misstep. Hermione had no idea what effects a sleeping draught would have on a developing baby, especially this early on. Hell, she didn’t even know if Bellerose had been telling her the truth about her being pregnant but she wasn’t willing to risk it.

Another stinging lash of pain that encompassed the whole of her head, neck, and back all in one halted her efforts and brought her knees slamming down onto the cold tile.

Hermione cried out at the sharp sting in her kneecaps and found herself right back in the position she’d started: braced on all fours and panting through waves of exhaustion and anguish from the haphazard blood bond she and Draco shared.

_‘Draco…’_

She needed to get to him.

She could be mad at him in the morning, but she needed to be near him— _now._

Pushing through her ever-growing veil of pain, Hermione crawled on shaky limbs from the bathroom towards her fireplace.

The more she moved, the heavier her body felt. She began to wonder if she’d gotten the draught out of her system in time or if it was just her luck that she swallowed just enough.

She saw the flames of her fireplace flickering.

She was so close.

She felt the heat of the fire and forced herself to keep moving.

Hermione felt hopeful as she reopened access to Malfoy Manor and clawed herself onto her feet, palming her way up the fireplace to try and reach the floo powder.

Her nails dug into the stone frame, scraping and splitting apart with the pressure behind the grip that barely kept her upright. Her hand was in the clay dish and the powder silky against her skin when another skull-splitting crack of pain rocketed through her.

The world lurched and she screamed as the strength fled form her limbs and she went crashing back down, powder, dish, and all. 

Crumpled on the carpet, she curled in on herself.

The sound of the dish clattering into the hearth was muted in her ears.

The green of the flames dulled as darkness crept in from the edges of her vision.

She choked on the taste of floo powder on her tongue and the rest of her senses were drowned out by the loud beating of her heart and the blood pumping through her veins.

_“Draco…”_

  
_**_,.-'~'-.,_,.-'~'-.,_** _   
_**Saturday, February 17, 2001 – 10:00AM** _   
_**-.,_,.-'~'-.,_,.--** _

  
_Warmth…_

_Floating…_

_She was floating in a sea of clouds._

_No pain._

_Somewhere along the line it had faded and she felt light._

_Light—light was hitting her face, she felt it heating her cheeks._

When Hermione opened her eyes, she was staring at her ceiling.

A jumble of thoughts waited for her sluggish mind to pick them apart and examine. 

Hermione blinked once. 

Twice. 

Three times at the ceiling of her bedroom and, for the life of her, with everything she did remember, she couldn't figure out how she’d gotten into her bed. She glanced around her room, searching her surroundings for signs.

Once she got her bearings, she realized she was laid out on one side of her bed. The sheet beneath her was warm and cozy, as though she’d been there for a few hours at the very least. She reached out to pat the empty spot beside her where the blankets were tossed back and found it just as warm, if not more so. She scooted towards the heat.

Hermione’s body felt heavy— _oh,_ so heavy—like it was made of stone. Her head was still fuzzy, still coming awake and being terribly stubborn about it, but she vaguely remembered calling out for Draco before she’d lost consciousness.

_‘Did he…?’_

Draco’s white-blond head, hair sticking in every direction and mussed from sleep, popped into view in her bedroom doorway.

_Speak of the devil and he shall appear._

“Good morning,” Draco said, soft and careful, eying her as though she might cut him for existing.

She recalled being mad at him. The hurt and anger began to bubble to the surface again as the memories came back but she was in no condition to pursue them, not right now at least.

Riddled with exhaustion, she blinked at him, managing to only offhandedly take note of his bare chest and that he wore the same transfigured slacks he’d been wearing last she left him. If she’d been feeling less like she’d been hit by the Hogwarts Express, she might have found more time to appreciate the way his muscles moved when he closed the distance between them. She might also have commented on the way his trousers were now too large for his frame and hung too low on his hips. She might have even enjoyed daydreaming about the sparse trail of pale hairs that crept down his stomach to a particular attraction she’d found very captivating the past several days.

Instead, she was far more interested in the tray he was bringing closer and the strong aroma of cooked meat wafting from it.

“Morning.” The single word croaked free from Hermione’s throat and she winced from the effort of speaking.

A grimace overtook Draco’s cautious expression and he set the tray onto the nightstand beside her, offering her up the glass of orange juice from it. To his surprise, Hermione accepted it from him eagerly and he perched on the edge of the bed and helped her sit upright so she could drink it.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Hermione rationed out a long swallow of juice and held her response until her throat didn’t feel like she was swallowing nails.

“Like death warmed over,” she said at last. Hermione took another, smaller sip and managed to give him the smallest of glares. “And I’m still mad at you.”

Draco smirked at that and pushed stubborn strings of curls out of her face as a thinly veiled attempt to stroke his knuckles over her cheek while she drank.

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Hermione’s glare shifted into something more suspicious at how readily Draco apologized. That wasn’t at all like him…or like _them._ She’d expected at least a little bit of a row to follow everything up but it was just as well. She didn’t have the energy to deal with another fight.

Hermione drained the rest of her juice and let Draco take her glass away, turning now to the delicious tray of food next to her. She feasted her eyes upon several perfectly seared thin strips of steak with just the right amount of pink in the center placed next to two sunny side up eggs which butted against a pile of cubed potatoes. Along with her glass of juice and the food, there was also a glass of milk and one of water with a neat bundle of utensils and napkin.

She was starting to doubt that she’d actually woken up from her episode. Perhaps she’d died after all.

“Where did you get all this?” she asked.

Draco slid the backs of his fingertips over her forehead as if testing for fever and when she didn’t recoil from his touch, he settled into a pattern of smoothing his hand down over her hair to the point her eyelids began drooping. She blinked blearily up at him.

“It looked like you were going to be out for a while,” he said. “Thought you might need something to eat.”

Hermione’s brows drew together, unsure if it was the post-passing out or the sleep-inducing petting that was causing her mind to go fuzzy.

“Wait…did you… _you_ made all this?”

Draco sighed, stopped stroking her hair, and fetched the tray from its spot to place it gingerly over her outstretched legs.

“Can you just eat and stop asking so many questions?” 

At his urging, Hermione plucked up the fork and, suddenly weary of the deceptively good-looking food, prodded at the steak.

“You _do_ remember who you’re talking to, don’t you?” she muttered.

Her snark only drew what seemed to be a relieved chuckle out of him and it made Hermione all the more confused.

“How did you—”

“Hermione, please just eat something.”

At his plea, Hermione stopped poking the steak and finally looked back up at him. When she did, she was able to see the tight lines of worry etched around his eyes and mouth. As pleasant as he was to look at outfitted as he was, she realized he was also decidedly disheveled and, that close, she realized he looked a bit thinner in the cheeks than she thought he should be.

She wanted to ask him why he was looking at her like that, with that barely concealed fear in his eyes and a subtle, thrumming tension running through every inch of him. She had at least a dozen more questions to ask but…with him staring at her the way he did, she pocketed her anger and confusion for later when she had more energy, took a forkful of the meat in front of her, and had a bite.

As soon as the steak hit her tongue, her mouth watered, eager for more, and a magnificent savory flavor burst across her tastebuds. She brightened considerably, chewing the piece of food before turning back to him.

“Draco, this is excellent! You made this? When— _how?!_ Where on earth did you learn how to cook?”

He shrugged, although a prideful grin did manage to slip out.

“Rehab. The reformation of dark wizards includes cooking lessons apparently.”

Hermione smacked his arm at the title he’d given himself but he didn’t appear to care.

“You learned this through _rehab?”_ Hermione asked the question with a mouthful of steak and eggs. “But my kitchen is purely—”

“Muggle, yes, I’m aware.” Draco shrugged again and busied his hands with taming her curls that had the gumption to try to sample his food. “What better way to illustrate how reformed I was than to show the Wizarding community I could embrace the Muggle way of life? It was but one of many things I was made to do.”

She paused in her chewing to send him a sidelong glance. The tone that colored his words wasn’t pleased and it was the first thing he’d done that’d truly given her pause since she woke up.

Hermione couldn’t help her scowl at his bitter tone.

“So sorry to make you revisit something so decidedly unpleasant,” she said and started to push away the food despite the protest from her stomach.  
Draco stopped her with a hand on her wrist. The look on his face was caught between his earlier plea and immense frustration at her attitude.

 _“Rehab_ was unpleasant. Being made an example and humiliated for every failed attempt to adapt to a culture different from anything I’d ever known growing up was unpleasant. Having everything I thought was the truth shredded apart in front of me was unpleasant. All of it was unpleasant…but this—” He moved his hand to cup hers which still held her fork and gave it a light nudge back to the food he’d made for her. “… _this_ is not.”

Hermione made a face and swirled a piece of steak through a broken yolk, suddenly unable to meet Draco’s eyes.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling foolish for snapping at him, as weak as it was.

Of course rehab was an unpleasant experience. The entire concept of it was a reformation of character, of habits and beliefs. Confronting the things about herself that’d kept her alive and thriving in a world at war with the intent of unraveling them had been something she’d met with the utmost resistance during her post-war counseling sessions. If his rehabilitation had been anything like those, she couldn’t blame him for being unhappy thinking about it.

“Sorry,” she said again, this time at a level she meant for him to hear. “I just…what are we doing, Draco?”

Still focused very intently on pushing around her food, she heard him sigh. Soon after, the tray was removed from her lap, stealing away her convenient distraction to be placed at the foot of the bed. Draco nudged at her side, coaxing her to scoot into the spot he’d slept in earlier and he slipped into the one she just vacated. Hermione wasn’t sure what to do with her hands so she just sat awkwardly with them clasped in her lap and from the corner of her eye it looked as though he might have been doing the same.

“You were dead,” he said.

It was an abrupt and jarring thing to hear and had Hermione’s head snapping back up to stare at him, open-mouthed.

_“What?”_

Draco exhaled a tremulous breath and it was a vulnerable thing. The night had been a blur of pain and confusion, but he’d known the second his floo connection with Hermione’s flat had been reestablished. Even if he hadn’t, the strained cry of his name would have brought him to her. Among the chaos of it all, one thing stood out, clear as crystal in his mind: Hermione’s terrifyingly still and pale body splayed across the hearthstones. It’d been like finding his mother collapsed in the garden all over again.

“I…at least I thought you were…I was _certain_ of it when I found you.”

It was Draco’s turn to fidget with his stare set solidly on his hands.

“You were lying by the fireplace, cold and still and barely breathing. And you were there because of me.”

Hermione remembered just how terrible she felt the night before. She’d known it was bad but had it really been that bad? Even so, it was their faulty blood bond that’d done it, not him. Seeing the haunted, lost look on his face made her chest ache.

“Draco, it wasn’t you, it was—”

“The curse?” he said it with the same sour tone as before and met her eyes. “It wasn’t the curse that chased you out.”

Hermione opened her mouth, something very clearly meant to placate him on her tongue but she stopped and pressed her lips shut instead.

“I’d thought…for a moment I’d thought you were gone and I’d never—” 

His mouth clacked shut and his lips pursed, a sudden tightening in his throat choking off his words.

“I meant what I said, Hermione.” Draco paused, making a face when he realized how that might sound. “Not back at the Manor, but here. It’s not unpleasant. I mean—this _thing_ between you and me— _that_ is not unpleasant.”

Draco continued, trying to untangle his words in as frazzled a state as Hermione had ever seen him. Every attempt came out utterly wrong. Somehow, she found it terribly endearing.

What a mess they were.

Hermione reached out to still his now animated gesturing and he shut up immediately. Tugging his hands to her, she placed a soft kiss to his knuckles and she both saw and felt some of the tension bleed out of him. He let her delicate fingers curl around one of his hands and moved the other to cup her face where his thumb stroked her cheek.

“So then…” Hermione began. “…you mean to tell me all your flippant tirades all these years have been a ruse? You _don’t_ find me unpleasant after all.”

Draco’s shoulders tensed for just a moment until he caught the mischievous way she peered at him from beneath her lashes and the tiny twitch of the corner of her mouth. He huffed out a breath and shook his head, giving her a smile that lightened the grey of his eyes.

“Well…let’s not be hasty. You’re still a know-it-all.”

Hermione snorted and nuzzled into the heat of his palm.

“Pillock,” she said.

“Stay with me,” he replied.

Hermione gulped. 

The intensity in his eyes made her want to shrivel under his gaze. She also wanted to agree. That’d been the original arrangement, after all. She would stay at the Manor to make everything easier on them both. Except this didn’t seem at all like the same request.

She swallowed down her nerves and made herself ask outright the one question that’d been plaguing her since her own feelings got jumbled into the mix of magic and mess.

“Because of the curse?” she asked.

Draco didn’t miss a beat.

“No. Not the curse.” His touch left her cheek in favor of holding her hands once more. “I want you to stay with me…if that’s what you want?”

Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding along with the corner of her lip she’d been gnawing into oblivion. A cautious smirk spread into to a wider grin. She nodded.

Draco met her grin with his own before pulling her into his arms and tucking her head beneath his chin. He felt her arms snake around his bare torso and the heat of them chased away the terrible memory of her cold, lifeless body. Burying his face in her curls, he breathed deeply of the scent of shampoo and soap and the fragrance that was simply her—alive and in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco is a soft boi. :U
> 
> There was a lot of rewriting in this chapter so sorry to the veteran readers who are like "whoa, hey, this is...totally different..." >_>


End file.
